


After Me Comes The Flood

by talistheintrovert



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bellarke, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Finn is there for a while, Fluff and Angst, Government Conspiracy, I mean maybe a little, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injured Clarke, Kidnapping, Multi, Murder, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, The Author Regrets Nothing, a lot of drama, aw yeah that's some good shit, because I love the bellarke cliches so much, bellamy working at a bar, both completely unaware how much they need each other, clarke being a doctor, emotionally WRECKED Bellamy, emotionally damaged Clarke, injured bellamy, overprotective bellamy, so i apologise, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:32:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 114,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talistheintrovert/pseuds/talistheintrovert
Summary: “It’s not my problem you’re so busy flirting with anything with a pulse, you forgot how to be a good bartender,” Clarke snapped back and he scoffed. She stepped closer, “Oh I’m sorry, did I hit a nerve? Do you not flirt with every girl who comes in here?”He chuckled humourlessly and slammed her drink down on the bar, “All except you, Princess.”After Bellamy left the military, all he wanted was a quiet life, working in his best friend's bar and hanging out with 'the delinquents'. Then one day, Jasper brings in a new addition - Clarke - who he's apparently known since college, and Bellamy immediately dislikes her. After a while, however, they realise that they may have more in common than they thought, and what they know about each other is about to put them in danger.There are forces out there that want Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake as far away from each other as possible, and they'll stop at nothing to make that happen.





	1. Yearning To Get Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this started out as a one-shot piece of fluff, and then I accidentally gave it a conspiracy plot and wrote 20 more chapters... I hope you enjoy it, because I sure had fun writing it. 
> 
> The title comes from a Regina Spektor song - Apres Moi - and all the chapter titles will be lyrics of Regina Spektor songs that are relevant to the particular chapter. As you can tell, I may be a fan of hers. 
> 
> Also, I switch perspectives within chapters between Bellamy and Clarke, so if I'm doing a time jump, there will be one line, and if I'm doing a perspective switch, it will be shown with two lines. I hope that's clear enough!

### 

_Life inside the music box ain't easy_  
_The mallets hit the gears are always turning_  
_And everyone inside the mechanism_  
_Is yearning_  
_To get out_  
_And sing another melody completely_  
_So different from the one they're always singing_  
_I close my eyes and think that I have found me_  
_But then I feel mortality surround me_  
_I want to sing another melody_  
_So different from the one I always sing_

**Music Box - Regina Spektor**

Bellamy Blake had very few favourite customers at The Dropship. He’d been working at the bar for four years, and in that time, he’d only truly become friends with three of them – Monty, Jasper and Harper.

He got on with many others: Niylah, the strong and silent type, that he liked because she rarely talked. Becca the politician, Wick the engineer and Anya the outdoor instructor were all good fun as well, whenever they came in. 

Cage Wallace was an ex-soldier who now worked as a liaison between the military and his father’s company, and he came in once a month like clockwork, sometimes with women on his arm. He always struck up conversation, talking about his time in the army, and asking about theirs. Bellamy held no love for the military, or his time in it, but so many of their customers were ex-vets, and he didn’t see the harm in indulging their desire to talk about it. 

Bree always flirted with him when she came in with her friends on Fridays, and Lexa, Gustus and Titus were almost always playing darts in the corner. 

None of them, however, ever broke through Bellamy’s cold exterior like the three that came in every Thursday. 

Harper was an easy-going girl, blonde and thin and almost entirely legs, at least on days when she wore tight skirts, which was always. She worked as a paralegal for a fancy upmarket law firm, and he’d been confused as to why she came to somewhere as _dingy_ as The Dropship, until he asked one day, about a year after he started working there. She’d given him a look and said, “Because Monty, Jasper and I went to college together, and this used to be our favourite haunt. Just because I spend my day working with rich, stuffy, sexist assholes, doesn’t mean I want to spend my evenings like that too.”

“Nah,” Bellamy had replied, grinning, “So you come here, spend your day around poorer sexist assholes.”

Harper had snorted and he believed that was the moment he’d been accepted as something more than just a bartender – he was a friend. 

Jasper was the fun one, apparently, although Bellamy knew he could be sensible if he wanted to. He ran a record shop two streets over called _The Vinyl Frontier_ , which doubled as a small venue for bands on Friday nights. He was always talking about some concoction of drugs or alcohol, and bringing up interesting obscure bands, which, surprisingly, Bellamy knew all of. He and Jasper had bonded over their music taste, and after a few months, Bellamy had started letting Jasper bring in mixtapes to play in the bar. In doing so, he basically made a friend for life, and four years later, Jasper still came in every week – even on days when Monty or Harper were unavailable. 

Monty was a little more reserved, but he clearly loved Jasper more than words: apparently, they’d been best friends since middle school. They had a weird self-five-handshake that Bellamy found annoying at first but had grown to like, and they seemed to always know what the other was thinking. He’d seen romantic relationships less in sync than Jasper and Monty. Monty worked with Harper, as a paralegal, but unlike Harper, he’d usually stripped himself of any remnants of the firm by the time he reached the bar. He was always in a casual shirt and jeans, and usually sported a red and black hoodie.

Monty and Jasper shared an apartment over the record shop, so he dropped in there on the way to the bar to get changed. Bellamy didn’t blame him – he couldn’t spend all day in a suit like that, and he didn’t envy Monty for it. 

It was a Thursday night, so he knew that the usual gang might be coming in – they never came in on Fridays because of Jasper’s music night at work, so they seemed to have substituted in Thursdays. 

“Hey, been busy?” Miller asked, grabbing a dish towel and wiping the bench. Miller was the co-owner of the bar, with his father, and Bellamy’s oldest friend. He’d followed him into the army, and now apparently he was following him into the alcohol business. He didn’t hate the job, and in fact it was a damn sight better than where he thought he’d end up, but he felt indebted to his friend. When Bellamy had found himself in town and out of work, Miller had jumped in, and no protests could have stopped him from giving Bellamy a job. 

“Nah, just the usual,” Bellamy replied, slicing limes, “I’m sure business will pick up once the life of the party arrives.”

Miller snorted, “where _is_ Jasper?”

“Right here bitches,” Jasper said, entering dramatically, and the bartenders rolled their eyes. 

“Did you wait for that cue, or…?” Bellamy asked, amused. 

“No, I’m just naturally dramatic, Blake, you should know this by now,” Jasper said, dragging a blonde girl that Bellamy had never seen in behind him. 

The girl was shorter, and curvier, than Harper, but she was no less gorgeous. Her blonde hair ran down to almost her elbows, and her blue eyes were striking, even in the warm, dim light of the room. In fact, Bellamy took a second to adjust to the idea of someone that well-dressed and good looking in the bar usually reserved for army vets and college frat guys. She was wearing upmarket clothes and carried herself like she knew how good she looked; there was something haughty in the way she surveyed her surroundings, and he tried to ignore the annoyance he felt at seeing it. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me about my friend?” Jasper asked, beaming.

“Sure Jordan,” Miller snorted, “How is it possible that you and Monty have such attractive female friends? Seriously, I’m gay and even I can see how gorgeous they are.”

A small blush rose in the girl’s cheeks, and she crossed her arms over herself. Bellamy couldn’t decide why that bothered him, but he didn’t have much time to think about it. Monty and Harper came crashing through the door, laughing about something, and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Jasper and the girl.

“Oh my god!” Harper squealed, at the same time as Monty yelled,

“Clarke!?”

Both of them surged forward and captured the girl in a tight hug until she started flailing her wrists, “Tap out, I’m tapping out, losing ability to breathe!”

They released her, smiles on all their faces, and turned towards Jasper. 

“I found her,” Jasper waved his hand over her flamboyantly, as if performing a magic trick, “the elusive Clarke Griffin has finally been discovered, by none other than magical wizard Jasper Jordan, fighter of the good fight and master of fun.”

The name Clarke Griffin rang some kind of bell in Bellamy’s head, but he ignored it and continued wiping down the bench, not engaging with his friends. 

The girl Bellamy now knew as Clarke snorted, side-eyeing her friend good-naturedly when she corrected him, “I’m back in town for a while, so I thought I’d stop in to visit Jasper’s shop. I didn’t expect him to tell everyone in the store about how I was his second favourite surprise ever, right after the time in college when we got him tickets to see Kansas, before Supernatural made them cool again.”

“Stupid Supernatural,” Jasper grumbled, “Carry On Wayward Son isn’t even their best song.”

“It kinda is,” Clarke pointed out, and Jasper swatted at her.

“Heresy!” He proclaimed, and turned to lean against the bar, “My good friend Bellamy, my favourite, my angel, could you get us a few beers please?”

“Sure, the usual?” At Jasper’s hearty nod, he grabbed three glasses and started to lift them to the tap, when he remembered, “Does your friend want the same or something different?”

Clarke heard him, and called over Jasper’s shoulder, “Rum’s fine!”

“Any particular kind?” He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Alcoholic, if you’ve got it?” She turned and followed Harper to the booth, and Bellamy decided he didn’t like her. It was the way she’d brushed him off, like the question itself was ridiculous, and he felt a tightening in his gut: the familiar pull of frustration he felt whenever an awkward customer visited.

He set down the beers and the rum and Jasper took them merrily, dancing to the table in glee. Bellamy had no idea how he managed not to spill them – maybe he really was a wizard. 

“I love that guy,” Miller said, clapping a hand to Bellamy’s shoulder and he snapped out of it, returning to the limes. 

He looked over at his friend, who was hovering, and sighed, “So how’s the boyfriend? Do I get to meet him yet?”

Miller cleared his throat awkwardly and wrung his hands, “He’s gonna come in tomorrow, because much as I love our merry band of delinquents, I think it’s best to ease him into our friends. So, you first, and Murphy, _then_ we can make him endure Jordan’s _enthusiasm_.”

“Good call,” Bellamy flashed his teeth at his friend and disappeared out the back to grab more ice.

While out the back, he could hear someone’s voice in the alley outside, and he realised that Clarke must have stepped out to take a call and was standing right by the window. He could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, “Don’t call me that.”

There was a pause, and Bellamy kept shovelling ice.

“If I’m a princess, what does that make you, Finn? A king? Little presumptuous, isn’t it?”

She paused again, and Bellamy slammed the freezer door shut. 

“No, it was just someone slamming a door, Finn. This neighbourhood is not that sketchy… it’s not! I used to come here all the time when I was in college with Jasper. Jasper’s the fun one. Is that jealousy I hear? You’re fun too… if you have time, you should come down next week, I’m sure Jasper would love to add to the party. Every day is a party with Jasper. He’s just got… la convoitise pour la vie.”

Bellamy snorted as he trudged away from the window – of course she spoke French. She couldn’t have just said ‘lust for life’ like a normal person. He fought back the sensible part of his brain that acknowledged that he’d understood the French – he took it when Octavia had done her college exchange over there so he could visit her, which had never ended up happening. 

When he returned, a cute woman with dark hair was leaning against the bar, and he felt his good mood returning slightly as he crossed over to serve her. After twenty minutes of flirting, and two drinks, she slid her number across the bench without him having to ask. Her friend arrived and she disappeared into the other room with her, her eyes staying firmly on Bellamy until she saw him pocket her number. 

‘You looked pleased with yourself,” a voice said to his right, and he turned back to find Clarke Griffin standing there, staring at him with something akin to amusement, “pick up a lot of girls in here, do you?”

He frowned at her, “So what if I do? I don’t sleep with them on shift.”

Her eyes widened, clearly offended at his admission, but he felt no desire to take it back.

“Can I get you something?” He asked, not even trying to be polite anymore. He didn’t need some random woman coming in here and judging his life choices, even if she was friends with his friends. 

“Yeah, rum,” she said, the amusement gone as she snapped, “anything but whatever it was you just gave me.”

“Y’know, it might be easier to get you a rum you like if you had _any_ preference,” he grumbled, and she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him, like a challenge.

“It’s not my problem you’re so busy flirting with anything with a pulse, you forgot how to be a good bartender,” Clarke snapped back and he scoffed. She stepped closer, “Oh I’m sorry, did I hit a nerve? Do you _not_ flirt with every girl who comes in here?”

He chuckled humourlessly and slammed her drink down on the bar, “All except you, _Princess_.”

She snatched the drink away and glared at him all the way back to the booth, where their friends were staring at them in silence. Jasper was the first to break it, leaning in to Clarke conspiratorially, but loudly whispering, “Wow, first girl ever that hasn’t fallen for the Blake charm.”

Clarke just looked annoyed, but Bellamy called out, “No-one ever said I was charming Jasper!”

His friend wrapped an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and shouted back, “and yet you get more tail than I do every week?”

“I think that’s just natural selection at work, Jordan,” Bellamy teased, “I think working at a bar makes it easier, whereas just coming in here every day makes you look a little desperate.”

Jasper nodded, “True. But I’m not in here every day.”

“Just most days!” Bellamy, Miller and Monty said in unison, making Harper, and even Clarke, laugh.

* * *

* * *

Clarke Griffin found Bellamy Blake infuriating. She didn’t like his attitude, she didn’t like that her friends all loved him, and she especially didn’t like that she found him attractive. She spent the better part of the next week trying not to think about the way he’d looked at her. 

She was perfectly happy with Finn, she wasn’t worried about that; she’d had a recurring dream about Salma Hayek for a week now, and it didn’t make her feel bad. But Bellamy was occupying her thoughts, and she was worried that if she spent any more time thinking about him, he would creep into her dreams as well. 

She was almost glad when Jasper invited her out to The Dropship again the next Thursday. At least this way she could remind herself of all the reasons she disliked Bellamy Blake.

He did not disappoint.

From almost the moment she walked in, his face dropped into a scowl, and she felt her own posture change defensively. When she vaguely ordered a rum, his frown only deepened, and he slammed it down on the bar.

“Bad day?” Clarke asked sarcastically.

“It is now, thanks,” he responded and stomped out the back. 

When she slid into the booth, she sighed and sipped it. It was different to the two he’d given her last week – darker – and she liked it immensely, although she’d never tell him that.

“Did I do something to him?” She asked, and her friends shared a look.

Harper leaned tiredly against Monty, who said, “He just doesn’t like your clothes.”

“He doesn’t appreciate good dress sense?” Clarke joked.

“No, he just… he grew up dirt poor, and seeing you come in here, dressed so well, bothers him.” He continued.

“Yeah, and you fanned the flames – we know him well enough not to poke the bear when he’s in a bad mood,” Harper agreed. 

“And you kinda slut-shamed him a little,” Monty added.

She sat, opening and closing her mouth, until Jasper draped his arm over her shoulder, “Don’t worry Clarkey, we’re still on your side: Bellamy can be a grumpy shit sometimes.”

Harper’s phone rang, and she showed it to Monty, “No, tell him no. Thursday is your night off and he knows that. He knows he can call you into work at 2am on a Sunday before he can make you come back in on Thursday.”

“He’s my boss Monty, how am I supposed to say no?” Harper asked.

“I don’t know, but you’ve had a long enough day, and he’s a dick, and you deserve this night off.”

He snatched her phone away and darted to the bar, leaving her to lie down where he’d just been sitting. Clarke and Jasper laughed, and she saw Bellamy in conversation with another girl down the other end of the bar. Miller was serving Monty, and both of them were talking seriously about something, but she was too focussed on the way Bellamy looked relaxed in everyone’s company but hers.

Maybe she could have been a little nicer. 

Cage Wallace chose that moment to wander in, catching Clarke’s eye as he meandered to the bar. His face warmed into something close to a smile and he tore his gaze away to approach Bellamy. 

“Wallace, been a while,” Bellamy joked.

“It’s been exactly a month and you know it, Blake,” Cage shot back as Bellamy poured him his usual.

“You’re nothing if not punctual, Wallace,” Miller joined in, and they laughed. Their conversation drifted to past service, but Cage’s gaze kept shifting over to the booth, and Harper noticed.

“Oh my god, Cage Wallace thinks you’re _fiiine_ ,” she hissed, smacking Clarke. 

“Luckily, I am already in a relationship,” she fired back, and everyone made rather obvious ‘oooooh’ noises. She rolled her eyes and grinned, “Alright, his name is Finn, and he’s really sweet. I’m actually living with him.”

“How long have you been dating?” Harper asked.

“Six weeks,” Clarke said, and Jasper gasped and put both of his hands melodramatically against Clarke’s belly.

“A new addition to the delinquents!” He cried out, and Clarke swatted his hands away.

“I am NOT pregnant! Oh my god, guys, seriously? I’m just staying with him while I look for a more permanent place of my own.”

“You should invite him next Thursday!” Jasper suggested excitedly, “Any boyfriend of yours is a friend of ours. Unless he’s a dick.”

She laughed and approached the bar to order the next round. Miller was deep in conversation with Cage Wallace and a couple of other veterans who’d joined the discussion, but Bellamy was hanging back, so unfortunately, she had to go to him. She tried to remember exactly what all her friends wanted.

“Uh, so Jasper wanted the, uh, Jasper Special, whatever that means.”

Bellamy nodded and started pulling a variety of liqueurs in a myriad of colours from the rack. While he put that concoction together, Clarke kept noticing that Cage Wallace was eyeing her suggestively.

“He likes you,” Bellamy muttered helpfully, finishing Jasper’s drink and putting it down, “though I can’t imagine why.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, but didn’t rise to the challenge, “Monty wants a beer, and Harper wants her usual, but Monty told me that he wants to pay for all of Harper’s drinks, because she’s had a bad day.”

Clarke didn’t miss the look of concern Bellamy shot towards the booth, and she also didn’t miss how quickly it shifted back to annoyance when he returned it to her. He placed two beers on the counter.

“I presume this means you’re making two payments,” he sounded irritated, and she did manage to feel a little bad. She had worked at cafes in college, and customers making multiple payments on the same order was annoying. 

She nodded, and he started punching something into the till, holding his hand out for the money. She handed Monty’s over, and he put it through, waiting for her to get the rest. 

“Oh, and–”

He cut off her question by sliding a glass of rum towards her. She looked up at him sceptically and he took the rest of her money, wanting to end the interaction as quickly as possible.

“I couldn’t stomach you asking me for just _rum_ one more time,” he explained.

She immediately crossed her arms and squared herself up to him defensively, “What’s wrong with rum?”

“Nothing, I love the stuff. What’s frustrating is that you ordering just rum – no brand, no type, not even a measurement – is fucking annoying.”

She bristled, “Surely that makes your job easier!”

“No, Princess, it doesn’t,” the nickname fell off his lips again, dripping with malice, “because when you just order _rum_ , I have to note which ones you didn’t like, and remember not to give you those next time. Do you know how many different kinds of rum we sell? It’s a lot. So until I’ve given you one of each and I know which ones you actually like, I have to actually pay attention to you, which, trust me, is the last thing I wanna do.”

He was gripping the counter, clearly trying to calm himself down, but Clarke was amped up for a fight now.

“Well I’m sorry that I’m actually making you _think_ for once. Can’t imagine that happens a lot. At home, I drink Captain Morgan’s, but that’s just because it’s the bottle I have. When I come in here, I want to just have whatever’s easiest, whatever’s going to get me drunk fastest.”

“Excellent, I’ll give you Captain Morgan’s from now on,” he sounded too relieved, and she shook her head defiantly. 

“No, because I have that at home. I just want rum.” 

He locked eyes with her, and she stared right back, daring him to back down. She was aware that the conversation beside them had trailed off, and that her friends were definitely staring at them from behind her, but she wanted Bellamy to know that she wasn’t going to lose.

“Right. So anything but Morgan’s then?” He asked tiredly.

“Sure, Blake,” she snapped, taking the tray of drinks back over to the booth. 

Cage Wallace was looking at her with something akin to amusement, and Miller was glaring exasperatedly at his friend, who busied himself serving Lexa down the other end of the bar. Her friends were staring at her as she passed out the drinks, and she cocked her head.

“What? I tried to be nice,” she said.

“When?” Monty shot back, amused, and she flushed a little.

He was right, she shouldn’t have gotten into such a heated debate over something as silly as her choice of drink, but the attractive bartender just irritated her. 

There were only ten minutes left until The Dropship closed, and people started trickling out. Bellamy nodded politely to Niylah as she flicked her wrist in lieu of a wave, leaving in silence. Lexa was herded out by Titus, while Gustus politely packed up the darts. Bellamy thanked him but was silently relieved when they left. He liked them, he did, but it always felt like Gustus was sizing him up.

Cage Wallace was the last to leave, finally dragged himself away from the counter, putting the money down underneath his empty glass and flashing a charming smile at Clarke. Miller followed behind him and locked the door. 

Harper approached the bar and leaned across Bellamy to turn the music up, “one more round?”

She was looking at him with puppy dog eyes and he rolled his own and elbowed her, “Go and sit down, I’ll bring them over.”

“Are you just being a gentleman because I had a bad day?” Harper asked teasingly as he followed her back to the table, tray of drinks perched on his arm.

“Of course not, I’m just trying to get in your pants,” he joked back, and she laughed.

“Oh good, for a moment there, I thought you were being nice,” she flopped down and immediately curled up against Monty. 

“Absolutely not,” he grinned, handing everyone their drinks, “you’ve just got a nice ass.”

He strode back to the till to start counting the days earnings and Harper couldn’t resist calling after him, “you’ve got a nice ass too, barkeep!”

His shoulder rocked with mirth as he continued walking away, and Clarke found herself chuckling along with the rest of the delinquents. He really could be charming when he wanted to be, despite him claiming he wasn’t. 

When he finished the till and started stacking the chairs, Clarke finally twigged to the fact that The Dropship was closed. “Are we allowed to be here, or should we be going home?”

Jasper kicked his feet up onto the table, “Nah, Miller owns the place, so we can stay as long as we like. We’re his closest friends, and we’re Bellamy’s only friends, aside from Murphy, so they make allowances.”

“Who’s Murphy?” Clarke asked.

“Oh my god,” Harper’s eyes widened, “she hasn’t met Murphy yet! He works here.”

“Murphy’s an asshole,” Monty explained, “We love the guy, but the first time I met him, he was elbowing someone in the face.”

“Oh.” Clarke sat forward, interested.

“He was in the army with Bellamy and Miller, but I don’t know if he’d have any friends if he hadn’t met them.”

“He constantly hits on me, Niylah, Bree, Lexa… honestly, just about everyone.” Harper waved her arm in an all-encompassing way.

“Doesn’t Bellamy also do that?” Clarke asked, and Harper shook her head vehemently. 

“No, Bellamy only flirts if someone flirts with him first. Murphy is…”

“Aggressive,” Jasper finished for her. 

“I’ve never known him to be in a single relationship,” Harper said. 

“Like I said, we love the guy, he’s just a little off kilter,” Monty said.

“That’s a mild way to put it,” Bellamy said, stacking the chairs in front of them, “he’s one of my oldest friends, excepting Miller, and even I’m not sure I like him.”

Clarke chuckled, “so do you guys always hang out here after close?”

“Every Thursday!” Jasper said proudly.

“Yeah, and sometimes when they’re feeling real generous, they actually help me tidy up,” Bellamy started wiping down tables, “it’s happened about twice in four years. I hold out hope for a third.”

“I can help,” Clarke suggested, and he paused a moment, surveying her.

“Honestly Princess, I think I’ve had about as much as I can handle of you today,” he said.

She curled her lip and stood up, “Congratulations jackass, you’ve got my help!”

He sighed and handed her a cloth, clearly too tired to argue, and she followed him around the empty bar, wiping down tables after he removed glasses from them. 

They moved in silence, neither of them willing to strike up a conversation, and Clarke’s mind started drifting off. She was trying to work out why the name Bellamy Blake sounded familiar – it had been bothering her for some time – but she kept drawing a blank.

“Clarke? Clarke Griffin? Princess!” Bellamy snapped, and she shook her head from its daydream and acknowledged him. He was standing in front of her, clearly annoyed about something, but when she stared back at him confusedly, his eyes softened. “Go back and sit with your friends, Clarke.”

She shook her head, and he showed her how to turn off the dishwasher, while he lifted massive bags of potatoes back into the pantry. 

He almost sounded bad that she was helping him instead of having a nice evening with her friends, and she tried to push that thought from her head. She wanted to leave Bellamy Blake in the box she’d put him in; the box where he was mean and thoughtless and unattractive. 

The last thing she wanted was to actually like him.

* * *

* * *

* * *

A car drove away from the bar with its headlights out, and for the first time in five years, the person occupying it had cause for concern: Clarke Griffin should not be in Arkadia. 

She especially should not be anywhere near Bellamy Blake.

If the two of them talked, if they figured anything out, the whole organisation would fall apart.

The figure in the car pressed their foot down harder on the accelerator and it sped away into the dark.


	2. Worth It Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homophobic frat bros decide The Dropship is a good place to start a fight, and boy are they wrong! Unfortunately, it all kicks off just as Clarke and her boyfriend arrive to see it.

### 

_I've been staying up drinking_  
_In the late night establishments_  
_Telling strangers personal things_  


  


**Summer in the City - Regina Spektor**

Bellamy had been glad when they’d left – glad to see Clarke’s long golden hair disappear out the door – but over the next week, he almost wished for the annoying woman over the customers he was getting.

Jasper had spent the whole week trying to convince him that Clarke was cool, and he was sure that Clarke was receiving a similar speech, but he just wasn’t interested. He didn’t like her and that was it. She hadn’t been in since, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He’d declined the usual invitation to game night, worried that him arguing with her would be disruptive. Miller had gone without him and apparently, he was on Clarke’s side now. 

“She’s actually really cool,” he’d said on Tuesday, “she knows enough nerdy shit to debate Jasper and Monty under the table, and she remembers to ask Harper about her job. She asked me about my dad, and owning the bar – I’m telling you dude, she’s great.”

Bellamy had just scoffed and gone to get more ice. But he would have to spend time with her eventually and it being Thursday, he knew the usual gang would be in at some point.

Despite his attempts to organise it sooner, Miller’s boyfriend was coming in that evening for the first time, and he was arriving early so that he could be eased into meeting the ‘delinquents’ as Miller affectionately called them.

They were swamped with people who’d left a football game, and none of them were particularly polite. People throwing money around, starting fights, and just generally ruining his mood. Luckily, he, Miller and Murphy were on shift, and they knew well enough how to work together. 

Despite it being a long, miserable day, it was almost over – they were closing in an hour.

“Murphy, mop,” Miller called from across the bar, and Murphy slid the bucket over without even taking his eyes off the customer he was serving. 

Bellamy was down the other end, serving a new throng of what appeared to be frat bros, bitter at their team’s loss. He handed them their drinks with as little words said between them as possible, but he knew from the way they were holding themselves that they weren’t in there for drinks. They wanted a fight. 

“Only a matter of time,” he muttered as he passed Murphy.

The wiry man shrugged, “I give it ten minutes.”

“I give it five,” Bellamy put twenty dollars down behind the bar, and Murphy huffed and added his own. They did this often enough that Miller didn’t even complain about it anymore, just asked to be left out. 

Unfortunately, Bellamy was right. Within two minutes, Miller’s shy, sweet looking boyfriend arrived, and made the mistake of leaning over the counter to kiss his cheek before he sat down. One of the angry frat bros saw it and approached them.

“What is this, a gay bar?” 

Bellamy tensed, and he saw Miller do the same, crossing his arms in defiance. Murphy looked relaxed as he pretended to ignore the altercation to serve the next girl, but Bellamy knew that the second the threat became real, Murphy would be the first to move. Murphy wasn’t as tall or muscly as Miller or Bellamy, but he was wiry, fast and he thought ahead. He was the perfect complement to Bellamy in combat, and part of the reason they were friends was their affinity for using violence as the solution to as many problems as possible. 

“What?” Miller asked bluntly. It wasn’t really a question, but the guy was either angry enough or drunk enough not to care.

“I said, what is this, a gay bar? Bar for fags? Cause I’m not a fag, so I don’t need no fags coming in and ruining my night,” he growled and Miller opened the bar door, ushering his boyfriend over to his side. He closed it before the frat bro could get through, but the guy didn’t look opposed to jumping over it. 

Bellamy stepped forward and put a hand on the guy’s chest, “Hey buddy, how about you back off.”

“You touching me, fag?” The guy hissed and drew his fist back to punch him. Bellamy waited for it, and when it swung towards his face, he side-stepped it and used the momentum to snatch the fist from the air. He twisted it behind his back and grabbed the other one to stop him from picking up a bottle and glassing anyone. 

“What was that, buddy?” Bellamy asked.

“Get off me, pussy boy!” The guy snapped, loud enough for his friends to hear, and they moved as one, aiming to attack Bellamy. One of them did what Bellamy was worried about and smashed a bottle, leaving only a jagged neck of spikes in his hand. He looked ready to do some serious damage, but he didn’t get close. Murphy had jumped nimbly over the bar, and in a flash was holding the bottle previously in the man’s hand to his throat, other arm around the guy’s shoulders to stop him from struggling. 

“I dare you to move,” Murphy sounded almost happy, “I fucking dare you.”

The other friends had stopped in their tracks, unsure how to proceed. 

The whole bar had gone quiet, save for Jasper’s music playing overhead. The door swung open, and Jasper himself came strutting in, Clarke trailing behind, with another guy Bellamy didn’t recognise in tow. He couldn’t imagine what the situation looked like to them – him pinning a guy against the bar, Murphy holding broken glass to someone’s throat, and Miller balling his hands into fists and standing in front of a guy who despite clearly not working there, was standing behind the bar. 

“Starting fights again, Murphy?” Jasper joked softly, but Clarke and the other guy just looked uncomfortable. 

“Always,” Murphy flashed a wolfish grin and tightened his hold. 

The guy in Bellamy’s grasp chose this moment to throw his head back and slam it into his nose. It wasn’t broken, he knew that, but it hurt like hell, and he loosened his grip. That seemed to be enough for the guy, who wiggled out of his arms and spun around as though to attack him. Bellamy didn’t move, feeling the blood on his lip where it had busted with the impact. 

“What are you scared, pussy boy?” 

“Maybe don’t, Brent,” one of the other guys said, and the guy he now knew as Brent straightened up.

“I’m not letting these _fags_ push us around,” he sneered, and Bellamy snapped. 

He leapt over the bar and socked the guy in the face. 

Clarke’s friend jumped forward, a hand on his arm as if being reassuring, “Hey, this isn’t necessary, you can just talk about this – just kick him out.”

Bellamy shoved the guy away and glowered at him. Clarke had enough sense to pull him back and start whispering something, but Bellamy didn’t care. He turned and hit Brent again, his fist colliding satisfyingly with his cheek. He fell to the ground, clutching his face, but Bellamy wasn’t done. He kicked him in the stomach and Brent doubled over, tucking himself into a ball. 

Lexa, Titus and Gustus had abandoned their darts game to watch, and almost everyone in the bar seemed mesmerised by the beating.

“Y’know, I was wondering,” Bellamy asked, as he punched him again, “why is it that no good, miserable low-life’s like you call people fags? Are you scared that if you stop being mean to them, you might actually like them?”

Brent just groaned and pushed himself up on his knees. All his friends had retreated towards the door now and even the one in Murphy’s grasp had sagged a little, looking defeated. 

“You come in here, on a Thursday night, with your idiot friends, looking to start a fight,” he said, gripping Brent’s shirt in his and dragging him into a semi-standing position, “that’s fine, I can get behind that. But you come in here, and you start throwing around words like that… you look to attack some good friends of mine, just for being gay? I will fucking _kill_ you, Brent, and slowly. Now take your friends and get the fuck out.”

“And feel free never to come back,” Miller chimed in, “seeing as I’m the owner, I’ll be keeping an eye out.”

Brent stood up on his own, and Bellamy stepped away, trying to regain his cool. Almost all of them were out the door now, and Murphy released the one in his grasp, throwing the broken bottle in his hand into the bin. He slid back behind the bar, asking the shocked lady at the counter what drinks she wanted as if nothing had occurred. 

“You alright Miller?” Bellamy asked.

“You’re asking me if I’m alright? There’s blood gushing out of your face.” Miller said incredulously, and he shrugged.

“I’ve had worse,” he said and then raised his voice, “anyone else want to cause any fights in here tonight? Anyone feeling particularly homophobic? Because I have no qualms throwing anyone out on their ass.”

The whole bar looked back at him in silence, and he nodded, fists hanging loosely by his side, still breathing heavily.

“I’d forgotten how sexy you are when you fight, Blake,” Murphy quipped, and Bellamy smacked him on the back of the head. 

“Whatever, fag,” Brent muttered, still just standing there, and Bellamy couldn’t stop himself. He moved forward, quickly, and grabbed the man by his hair, pulling him towards the door with a huge amount of force. He shoved him through it and watched as Brent hit the ground with a satisfying smack, now bleeding from his eyebrow. 

“That’s not nice, Brent,” Bellamy growled his tone becoming sharper with every utterance of his name, “you shouldn’t use words like that, Brent. Especially not in a bar owned by a gay man and his ex-army buddies, _Brent_.”

Brent’s eyes widened a little in fear and Bellamy spun on his heel and slammed the door behind him.  
The rest of the crowd had returned to their conversations as if nothing had happened, and the usual noises of The Dropship had returned. Murphy was flirting with a girl at the counter, and Miller’s boyfriend had returned to his barstool on the other side of it. 

Jasper was looking at him with something akin to wonder, and Clarke was frowning at his nose. Her friend, however, looked unimpressed.

“Did that really have to happen? You couldn’t have just kicked them out and be done with it?” He asked, and Bellamy folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Yes, it had to happen. He started it,” Bellamy said lazily, finally beginning the feel the pain in his nose and his busted lip. 

“You could have finished it,” he replied, exasperatedly, and before he had a chance to say anything, Miller chimed in.

“He did finish it. The only reason I wasn’t wailing on them myself was because I own the place. Not a good look for the owner to start beating everyone who disagrees with him. I hired Murphy because he can disarm a guy before a fight starts, but I hired Bellamy because he can deescalate the fight once it’s already started.”

“ _That’s_ deescalating it?” Finn asked Clarke, and she looked irritated. 

“He was being homophobic, Finn. If he hadn’t punched him, I was going to,” she pointed out, and Finn threw his hands up in the air.

“I understand that he’s a grade A asshole, I’m just saying, not every dispute has to be resolved with violence,” he said.

“Who’s the pacifist?” Murphy drawled, interested. 

“This is my boyfriend, Finn,” Clarke said, and Bellamy felt his dislike for her growing – not only was she rude, but _that guy_ was her boyfriend. 

“Really?” Murphy asked incredulously, “But you’re so much hotter than him!”

Clarke laughed and stuck out her tongue at him, “I’m guessing you’re Murphy.”

“And you’re Clarke. Miller likes you. Bellamy doesn’t. Guess I’ll have to be the tie-breaker, as per usual,” Murphy teased.

“What’s your decision?” She asked.

“Jury’s out right now. I’ll let you know when court’s back in session,” he said, turning his attention to Gustus, who was attempting to order more beer. 

Bellamy finally righted himself and stomped across the floor to stick his hand out to the meek looking guy on the barstool in front of Miller, “Bellamy. I’m assuming you’re the boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, smiling, “I’m Bryan, Bryan Jameson.”

“Good to meet you, finally. I promise this place is usually more welcoming than that. It was just a particularly bad day today.” He apologised, but Bryan just shook his head and smiled.

“Honestly, I was worried about meeting you guys, even though Miller assured me you’d be cool. After what I just saw, I’m pretty sure I trust you with my life. No-one’s ever jumped to my aid that quickly before.”

“Any time, Bryan. Seriously – you’re Miller’s boyfriend, that makes you family,” Murphy called out from his place a few feet away, “Well, that, and I miss fighting.”

The men laughed, Bellamy smacked Murphy in the back of the head, and it was like equilibrium had been restored. So of course, that was when Monty and Harper sidled in.

“Jesus Bell, what happened to your face?” Harper asked.

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before, Harper,” he pointed out, and sat down next to Bryan, needing a breather. He tuned his friends out for a minute, until his felt someone roughly grab his face. 

He opened his eyes to find Clarke’s eyes inches from his own, and he realised she was inspecting him closely. 

Their friends were sitting in their usual booth, Miller and Bryan having joined them, and Murphy was holding down the bar. The place was winding down for the night, and there were very few people left in there that he didn’t know. 

She placed her fingers either side of the bridge of his nose and squeezed slightly. He winced, but she just moved her fingers further down and repeated the motion. 

“Can you breathe through it?” She asked clinically, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Any blurred vision, or headache?” 

“No blurred vision, but my face hurts.” He said, grimacing when she pressed a damp cloth to his upper lip. 

“It’ll do that if someone’s cranium smacks into it at full force,” Clarke said, mouth twitching slightly, and she loosened the pressure a little bit. She dabbed gently around his nose for a moment before he took the cloth from her, wiping his own face with it. She glared at him and he laughed. 

“You looked worried that you were gonna hurt me,” he explained, “I thought you could get your job done easier if I did it for you.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, and he smiled. She leaned away from him for a moment, “It’s not broken.”

“How do you know how to do this, anyway?” He asked as she started fiddling with something in the first aid kid.

“I was a med student. Doctor for a year too, kinda – travelled around to poor areas in Europe providing healthcare to people without insurance. It was one of the options instead of a residency at the hospital I worked at in Polis.”

“Was?” He asked, knowing it was none of his business. He silently cursed himself for calculating her age at 27 - two years younger than him. He didn’t even like this girl.

“I needed a break. So about a month ago I handed in my resignation and came back to the US. Arkadia is the same as it always has been, apparently. Still backwards and frustrating.”

“Yeah the rest of America moved on and Arkadia stayed in the 80s with the drugs and violence – it’s even still segregated evenly. Rich people on one side of the train tracks, the rest of us on the other.”

Clarke didn’t say anything and he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. You’re from the rich side,” he realised and she flushed angrily.

“Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t, it just… oh my god!” Bellamy finally remembered where he’d heard her name before, “Griffin. Clarke _Griffin_. You’re–”

“Abby Griffin’s daughter, yeah,” Clarke suddenly sounded exhausted, and he wondered how many people knew her only as the daughter of the mayor’s wife. Marcus Kane was a good mayor – a damn sight better than the last – but he was still from the nice side of the tracks, and his wife was a leading surgeon at the private hospital on the hill. Hardly a representative for Bellamy’s demographic. She finished with his nose and stepped back, “And no, I will not pass on your complaints to my step-father.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He retorted.

“Yes, it was,” Clarke crossed her arms, ready to argue with him again, but he put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she faltered slightly.

“No, it wasn’t. You’re Jake Griffin’s daughter.”

Whatever effect he had hoped those words would have, the actual effect was striking. Clarke clapped her hands to her mouth and tears filled her eyes almost instantaneously. She was staring at him sharply, blinking furiously to stop the tears spilling out over her lashes. 

“Sorry, I didn’t…” he trailed away, unsure, his hand slipping from her shoulder, “uh, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What do you know about my father?” It sounded almost accusatory, but he couldn’t blame her. 

Bellamy had met him during his second tour – he was a sergeant, and a fine soldier. Bellamy had liked him immensely – so many other soldiers ranking anywhere above private were cocky, but Jake Griffin was soft spoken and kind. 

Jake Griffin had been in the field, on his final tour before he returned home to be with his wife and daughter who, at the time, was in college, when he died. Bellamy remembered it like it was yesterday.

He remembered the death, and the trial afterwards.

“He wasn’t in my unit,” Bellamy said quietly, “But I knew him. My unit was in the same area, and our half got pinned down under gunfire. We were stuck for three days, so I didn’t hear about Jake until we got back.”

Clarke closed her eyes and Bellamy was reluctant to touch her, or say anything else that might upset her further.

When she finally opened them again, he almost flinched at the raw emotion – Jake Griffin had been in the ground for over five years, but to Clarke it looked as though the pain had never abated. “I knew your name sounded familiar. I think my dad mentioned you once or twice, before he died. How long did you serve for?”

“Three years. Long enough to put my sister through college. Jake… died in my second tour. Miller and Murphy knew him too,” he said, leaning forward and wrapping his fingers around her arm. He wondered for a moment if he’d over-stepped, but she didn’t brush him off.

“Murphy knew who, Blake?” Murphy asked, leaning over his shoulder playfully, and Bellamy elbowed him.

“Jake Griffin.” Clarke whispered, and the smile fell off Murphy’s face. 

“Oh,” he said. 

“Jake was Clarke’s father,” Bellamy muttered, and Murphy held out his hand for Clarke to shake.

“And a damn good man,” Murphy finished for him. Bellamy released her arm and Clarke took the hand tentatively. Murphy nodded at her curtly, “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Griffin.”

“Clarke’s fine,” she replied, and he nodded again. 

“Look, I’m an asshole, but I owe that man. Me, Miller, Blake – we all owe him – so if you ever need anything, you ever need me to beat anyone up for you, let me know.” 

“Will do,” she frowned, and he put a drink down for her.

“Drink is on me, Clarke,” he offered, “and court is in session. I like you. Bellamy’s a jackass, Miller’s right – so the usual tiebreaker.”

Murphy sidled away to where a customer was waiting, and Clarke watched him quizzically.

“Murphy’s an enigma. He’s right about being an asshole; anyone who knows Murphy knows how much of a dick he is. But he’s not lying about his respect for Jake. Him offering you a favour is as good as a marriage proposal. He means it.” Bellamy stood up but didn’t leave.

“But he’s hoping if I ever do ask for help, it’s to hurt people,” Clarke said. It wasn’t a question.

“Murphy’s… angry. We’ve all got issues I suppose. Except Miller – Miller’s healthy.” He joked, trying to relieve the tension.

Clarke turned her big blue eyes on him, “And what are your issues?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Princess,” he said before he could stop himself. His past was always a sore point with him, but he could feel all the goodwill he’d built up with Clarke over the last few minutes fading away. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, “Sorry, I didn’t… I don’t really…”

“…talk about it,” she finished for him, and it was much kinder than he expected, “fair enough. I don’t really talk about my dad. It’s too hard.”

He sighed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all that up for you again.”

“No! No, it’s fine, really. I should probably think about him more,” there was an element of guilt in her voice and he found himself urgently wanting to wipe it away.

“Well, if you ever want to talk about him, talk to Miller, or Murphy. Even me, Princess, though I’m sure you’d rather talk to someone you actually like.”

She smiled, small, but it was there, “I don’t know, Blake, you’re growing on me.”

She returned to the booth while Bellamy helped Murphy clear up and closed the bar for the night. Finn was curling up beside her, whispering in her ear and making her laugh. It was like she’d never been crying, but Bellamy kept more of an eye on her now, which it seemed Finn noticed. He contemplated telling the guy that he wasn’t interested in his girlfriend, but it didn’t seem like it would make a difference, so he just ignored Finn's glares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter! I had an absolute blast writing it, and I hope you like it as much as I do. 
> 
>  
> 
> Come and chat to me on tumblr!


	3. Don't Judge So Harsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy learn more about each other, and Clarke realises she might have misjudged him earlier. 
> 
> Octavia causes trouble.

### 

_Don't look so shocked_  
_Don't judge so harsh_  
_You don't know_  
_You are only spying_  
_Everyone knows it's going to hurt_  
_But at least we'll get hurt trying_  
  
**Firewood - Regina Spektor**

The next week, when they were finally closed and every last customer had left, they were all drinking heavily and laughing together. Finn was there but only for the next hour or so - he was busy and he had to work early the next morning - but Clarke had decided that she never wanted to miss a Thursday for as long as she lived. She couldn't believe she'd let herself forget how fun her friends were, how warm she felt when she was around them. But then she supposed that she'd had to forget: so she didn't feel so lost without them. 

Bellamy and Murphy were cleaning the bar and counting the till, rolling their eyes at each other while they listened to their friends. Murphy finished first, but he grabbed the cloth off his friend and demanded he sit down. He didn't need to be told twice. 

Bellamy slid into the booth and leaned against Miller, listening to the heated discussion about what the best sci-fi show was. Everyone was completely engaged, even Finn, although he didn't seem to understand anything they were talking about. Clarke had been taking bets on who was going to win and even though Monty was the lawyer, her money was on Jasper. He was the king of TV.

“No, Doctor Who trumps Star Trek – it’s the longest running show.” Jasper argued. 

“Yeah only ‘cause it got cancelled for years and brought back. Cancellation makes that a moot point,” Monty said, an element of irritation in his voice. Harper just smiled over her drink at them, and Clarke was rolling her eyes and translating the nerd talk to Finn. Clearly, they had had this argument before, “Star Trek is all inclusive – it pioneered race politics–”

“Doctor Who has _time travel_! It fucking transcends race politics! It goes back in time to point and laugh at race politics!”

Then, in unison, they looked over at Bellamy and yelled, “Back me up, Blake!”

He sat up slightly and glanced between them both, “I disagree with both of you.”

“Urgh, of course you do,” Monty sighed, but he smiled at Bellamy anyway. Monty was great like that – he could be vehemently disagreeing with you and yet still make you feel like your point mattered. Clarke guessed it made him good at reading witnesses in court. 

“Best sci-fi show ever is Firefly, no fucking contest,” he said, and Monty and Jasper both started protesting over the top of each other. He heard a sharp intake of breath across from him, and took Clarke a moment to even realise it had come from her.

“Wrong,” Clarke said, “Dollhouse.”

“Oh my god, really? C’mon Clarke, you’re better than that!” Bellamy snarked.

“Says the guy picking the most cliched fanboy argument!” Clarke snapped back, and Monty and Jasper’s bickering died off entirely so they could watch the spectacle. 

“Just because it’s a more famous example doesn’t make me wrong, _Princess_.” He seethed back, and Clarke leaned across the table to make her point.

“Dollhouse is an interesting concept executed with finesse; it’s some of Joss Whedon’s finest work and Alan Tudyk’s performance is mesmerising.” 

“If you take that statement and substitute Firefly for Dollhouse, the point still stands,” Bellamy said smugly, and she glared. 

Their emotional conversation from the previous week was entirely forgotten as they argued at each other across the table.

“Dollhouse went downhill after the first season. Whedon had to cram in everything because he knew it was getting canned.”

“Who’s to say that wouldn’t have happened to Firefly?!” Clarke rolled her eyes, “It’s almost a good thing it never got another season.”

“How dare–” Bellamy was cut off by his own phone ringing. Octavia’s name flashed up and he left the booth faster than he’d leapt over the bar to punch Brent. 

Clarke sat, seething, waiting for her annoyance to die down, “Did he just bail mid-argument? I win, right?”

“Sure Clarkey,” Jasper said, eyeing her warily, “but he didn’t exactly bail. Actually, the second his phone rang, he probably forgot we all existed. He’ll come back and continue the argument in a minute.”

“Who’s ringing him?” She asked nosily, and Finn elbowed her. 

“His sister,” Miller answered, “She lives in Polis, a couple hours away. She visits sometimes. Jasper has a crush on her.”

Jasper winced, but didn’t protest.

Miller continued, “She’s ringing him at 1am, so either she’s drunk…”

“Or she’s in trouble,” Monty finished for him.

“What’re the odds that it’s both?” Murphy joined the table, sliding into the spot Bellamy had just vacated.

“In your favour,” Bellamy growled from behind him, “Miller, I need tomorrow off.”

“Sure thing man, she okay?” Miller looked concerned. 

Bellamy rolled his eyes up to stare at the ceiling when he said, “She got arrested.”

“What?!” 

Everyone but Clarke and Finn gasped. They just looked confusedly around at everyone, waiting for an explanation. Bryan looked surprised, despite never having met her, and he shared a look with Miller knowingly.

“Some guy tried to grope her, so she kicked him through a window,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, igniting the pain again, but he almost enjoyed it. It focussed his attention. 

“Oh, well that’s not surprising,” Miller relaxed again, resting his head on Bryan’s shoulder.

“Yeah, then she leapt through the window after him and started just…” his hand crept unconsciously over his trousers, “ _stomping_ on his junk.”

Every man at the table winced audibly, and Clarke felt more than a little ill: she’d seen her fair share of mangled testicles in her time – it wasn’t pretty. 

“I will continue this argument with you some other time, _Princess_ ,” Bellamy said, grabbing his wallet and keys from the table, “Sorry about tomorrow Miller, I’ll make it up in the week. If I get back in time, I’ll even work the last few hours.”

“C’mon man, don’t worry about it. You know I got your back. You beat up some jackasses last week so I didn’t have to – you can take as many days off as you like.”

“In that case…” Bellamy joked, not even finishing the sentiment as he strode from The Dropship.

* * *

Bellamy didn’t come back the next day. In fact, he didn’t come back the day after either. Clarke dropped by on Saturday with Finn and Jasper, but there was still no Bellamy. Murphy, Miller, a new guy called Riley and a cute girl called Roma were working the busy shift without him, and it showed. Drinks were taking longer and food was a no show – the kitchen getting confused by the new kid’s system of sending out orders, and Miller getting exasperated at everything. 

They didn’t mind though – they enjoyed just chatting in the usual booth, having time to wind down after stressful days. Clarke had been staying with Finn since she moved back to Arkadia – she hadn’t even told her mother she was in town, although she was sure Abby would find out soon enough. She’d met Finn while on one of her return trips from Spain – she’d been in Arkadia for a few weeks and bumped into him at a bar. 

Finn was training to be a sky-diving instructor, he’d told her, and he’d only moved to Arkadia recently. Until a few months ago, he’d been living in Polis with his girlfriend, who was a mechanic. But Polis didn’t have anywhere to sky-dive, so he broke up with his girlfriend and moved to pursue his dreams. 

Clarke had loved that – it was the kind of thing she was aching to do: to abandon medicine and pursue her own dreams. Unfortunately, Clarke had always found her guilt got in the way, until a particularly heated argument with her mother over the phone, in which some unforgivable things were said. Then, she’d quit her job and moved back to Arkadia. When she rang Finn from a small province in Italy, he not only answered, but picked her up from the airport when she touched down. And despite her begging him to look at apartments with her, he wouldn’t hear of it, and offered her the spare room in his. 

Not that they’d used it much. 

It was mainly a storage room at this point.

They were filling in Jasper on all of this when Miller arrived at the table with plates in either hand, out of breath, “It’s like he disappears for two days and the whole bar falls apart. How can everything hinge so much on one guy? He doesn’t even own the place!”

“Ah yes, that honour falls to you, my friend,” Jasper said, gratefully wolfing down the fries in front of him. 

“How _is_ Bellamy?” Clarke asked before she could stop herself.

“He’s alright. He rang this morning to apologise – apparently when he got there, his sister had struck up quite the friendship with her arresting officer, so he was fairly lenient. But Bell still had to fill out all the forms, and the officer wanted to keep her on ice for another day. He’ll be back this evening, but he’s not happy.” Miller sighed, leaning against the edge of the booth.

“Is he ever?” Clarke asked, and Jasper snorted. 

Miller just gave her a look and straightened, “He generally has a reason not to be.”

Clarke sat in silence for a moment after Miller returned to the bar, unsure how to react. Miller generally went along with the Bellamy teasing, but something about that remark had sobered him.

“What do you reckon, Clarke?” Finn asked, snapping her from her reverie.

“Sorry?” 

“Jasper suggested we both become regulars at their Thursday Night Drunkfest – I said as long as the invitation is open, I’ll be here every Thursday with bells on. What do you reckon, Princess?” He repeated evenly. 

That was why she liked Finn; he knew how caught up in her head she got sometimes, and he had no qualms about repeating himself, without being rude about it. 

“Sure! I’m usually free on Saturday nights as well Jasper, and I can come to _Vinyl Frontier_ every second Friday or so – I need some new music recommendations,” she said warmly. 

The conversation continued for the next hour, and she remained fully engaged, enjoying the back and forth between Finn and Jasper, and the occasional interjections by Miller when he came by the table in the pretence of checking their order. 

She had missed her friends. Med school had been hard, being swapped to Polis for the last few years, per her mother’s request. She had been uprooted and separated from her life, simply because her mother didn’t want Clarke around to mope in all the photo ops for the mayoral run. Clarke had felt she had a right to choose not to smile – her dad had been in the ground less than a year and her mother was engaged to a politician. 

Not that she didn’t like Marcus – she loved him. She’d know him all her life; he was one of her father’s closest friends. Clarke didn’t blame them for finding each other, lord knows she’d found her own way of coping, but she did reserve the right to refuse to pose for the paper. Abby had become frustrated and told her if she wasn’t going to act like part of the family, then maybe she needed some space from it. Clarke had angrily agreed in the moment, but she hadn’t expected her mother to just transfer her to Polis with no warning. 

She grimaced at the memory. She was glad to be back in Arkadia, string-free. 

She opened her mouth to say something about heading home, because they were closing soon, when a girl a little younger than her burst through the door with more enthusiasm than Clarke was ready for. 

“I’m back bitches!” She yelled, earning some odd looks from the old guys playing darts.

Jasper leapt up immediately and she bounded into him for a hug. 

“I missed you,” Jasper beamed, and she grinned back. She was tall, and toned, and her thick, dark hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, and there were multiple piercings in each ear. Clarke would have been intimidated if she hadn’t just seen her hug Jasper like a toddler with a teddy bear. 

“Good to see you, O,” Miller said, giving her a one-arm hug, tray of dishes balanced on his other hand, “Where’s Bell?”

“He’s in Hell,” Bellamy’s voice echoed through the door, and when he came through it, Clarke could see why. He looked exhausted – he clearly hadn’t showered in a while, and his hair was dangling limply into his eyes. He pushed it back a little, eyes darting over to the booth where they were sitting. 

“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Big Brother,” Octavia rolled her eyes and elbowed him good-naturedly. 

“Dramatic? I’m dramatic? You crushed a guy’s testicles to _dust_ , O, and _I’m_ the dramatic one?”

“He kept groping me. I gave him a chance. When he tried to shove his hand down my pants, I snapped,” Octavia said, sliding into the booth next to Jasper, “Are you saying that if you’d have been there, if you’d seen him grope me, you would have handled the situation calmly?”

Miller snorted and Murphy yelled from the bar, “Not a chance, Blake! You’d be facing a murder charge!”

Bellamy’s hand raised at him, as if threatening to smack him in the head, but they both knew it was an empty threat – Murphy was too far away and Bellamy was too tired. 

“You’re so lucky that police officer was on scene and saw him trying to grope you – if he hadn’t, you’d be in jail for grievous bodily harm,” Bellamy sighed deeply, tucking in next to Clarke. He rested his head on the table, and Clarke resisted the urge to stroke his back. 

“I’m lucky my police officer was a fine piece of ass,” Octavia remarked to Clarke, and she laughed while Bellamy groaned and pretended to block his ears. 

“Oh, I like you,” she said, smiling across at the girl. 

“You’re new, so I assume you’re Clarke?” Octavia asked, and tilted her head at them.

“Yeah, and this is my boyfriend, Finn.”

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Finn said, “Princess, I’m gonna get another drink, do you want one?”

“Yeah sure,” Clarke said offhandedly, and Finn stood up to move across them. But Bellamy didn’t look like he was going to budge, so he changed direction and shuffled over Jasper and Octavia instead. Clarke nodded, “and you’re Bellamy’s sister.”

“Unfortunately,” she rolled the word off her tongue and Bellamy kicked her under the table, still pressing his face to the cold wood. 

“So, what do you do?” Clarke asked. 

“I’m a bail bondsperson.”

Bellamy groaned again, louder this time, “All the fucking money for college, and you’re beating people up for a living. What did I say about becoming like me?”

“Shouldn’t have set such a good example for me then, Big Brother,” Octavia bit back, low-fiving Jasper.

“What did you study?” Clarke asked, and Octavia suddenly looked sheepish. 

“I… teaching. I wanted to work in the school system for, like, disaffected youths and stuff.” Her whole demeanour had changed now, and she was cracking her knuckles one by one and glancing at Bellamy, “I did teach, for a little while – thought about maybe use it as a bouncing off point to work in foster care.”

“Why did you quit?”

“The system sucks. It never mattered what I did, those kids are fucked purely by the system they’re born into. It was frustrating. So, I quit, and now I beat people up for money.”

Finn returned, sliding around to sit next to Clarke, and handed her a beer. She gave him a look, confused as to why he’d gotten her a beer when she hated the stuff. Then she recalled they’d really only gone out drinking the once – the night they met – and every other night with alcohol involved usually just came from the stash of vodka he had in the cupboard. He’d also never bought her a drink on Thursday, because Bellamy almost always had a drink ready for her when she arrived, to avoid an argument. She sipped it politely.

Miller appeared again, dumping a plate of hot wings in front of Octavia, who started tearing into them voraciously. He placed another dish with some fries in front of Bellamy. 

“I’m not hungry Miller,” he grumbled, but when his friend put a hand on his shoulder, he sat up and eyed the food suspiciously. 

“Octavia, how much has he eaten?” Miller asked, sounding like a worried parent. 

“Today? Some eggs for breakfast and three coffees. I don’t think he ate anything yesterday.”

“I hate you,” Bellamy snapped, glaring between his sister and his best friend. 

“I know, dick, but you need to eat something,” Miller smacked him on the back of the head and pointed at Clarke, “Right, you’re on Bellamy duty – make sure he eats at least half of these.”

Bellamy didn’t even wait for his friend to get back to the bar before he flipped him off and lolled his head back against the booth. Clarke pulled the plate of fries closer, and he glanced at her.

“You can eat them if you want, Clarke. I’m not hungry.” He muttered, closing his eyes. She punched his arm and he opened one of them, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not getting in hot water with Miller, jackass, eat the fries.” 

“You’re more scared of Miller than me? Bad call _Princess_ ,” there was that nickname again, but it held less malice now. Maybe he was just too tired to be mean. 

“Not Miller on his own, but Miller and Murphy combined, perhaps a little. Add Octavia to the mix, and I’m gonna make you eat the fries. I’ve just met her, but she seems cool, and she also seems like if I don’t make you eat these, she can kick me through a window,” Clarke pointed out, and Bellamy grumbled to himself, but he picked up a few fries and shoved them in his mouth.

“Happy?” he asked, mouth full.

“Ecstatic,” Clarke said, sharing a look with Jasper. She saw Bellamy give her beer a strange look, but sipped it anyway, trying to look like she was enjoying it. There was something akin to amusement on his face as he chewed.

“So… what do you do, Clarke?” Octavia asked, leaning back as she finished the last of the hot wings. 

Clarke swallowed, unsure, “Uh… I was a doctor, for a little over a year. Took a lot of studying to get there, and I was helping people… but I needed a break. So I’m not doing much of anything at the moment. I draw. I’m gonna need a job at some point, but for now, I can stay with Finn and try and enjoy my time off.”

Bellamy coughed, and Clarke turned, waiting for him to say something. She wasn’t disappointed. 

“Where’s your money coming from? Surely you must have loads of student debt – how can you afford to even live?” He asked, looking torn between confusion and a frustrated idea of what her answer would be. 

His frustrations were proved right when she cleared her throat and said quietly, “I don’t have student debt. My… my mom took care of it.”

She expected Bellamy to say something at that, to clap back at her or start an argument, but instead, he simply continued to eat the fries, not making eye contact with anyone at the table. 

“So all the money I earned being a travelling doctor the last year, I just put it away. I figure it’ll last me a while, or at least until I’ve figured out what I wanna do,” Clarke continued, swigging her drink. 

Octavia was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and bitterness, and Clarke couldn’t blame her. She remembered Bellamy saying the only reason he went into the army was to pay for Octavia’s college, so she understood how frustrating it must be to be sitting across from someone who had their entire med school bills paid, and then threw away being a doctor just to sit around Finn’s apartment. 

“Sorry,” she said, almost instinctively. 

“Don’t apologise,” Bellamy growled.

“No, I want to, I’m… sorry. It’s not fair. I don’t even like my mother, but she paid for my school, everything. You guys got screwed.” Clarke said, downing the last of her beer and making a face. 

“No shit,” Bellamy snorted, sharing a look with Octavia, “but that’s not your fault. Don’t apologise.”

Clarke nudged him with her shoulder, and he finally looked at her, his brown eyes saying something that she couldn’t read with her blue ones, “Why are you being nice to me? It’s freaking me out.”

He chuckled and nudged her in return, “Don’t get used to it, you still have terrible taste in TV shows. But you can’t control where you’re born, or…” he cleared his throat, “or who your parents are. We just had to work a little harder at dragging ourselves out, that’s all. Your life hasn’t been roses, has it Princess?”

She took his point, “No, it hasn’t.”

“Neither have ours. Shit happens. Doesn’t matter where you’re from, shit happens.”

“Wow that’s poetic Big Brother, you should put that on a throw pillow,” Octavia teased, relieving some of the tension. 

Finn chose that moment to lean on her shoulder and whisper romantic things in her ear. He was sliding his hand up her thigh, and she was losing the ability to think straight. She stayed long enough to make sure Bellamy was through half the fries, and then she excused them and they disappeared into the night.

* * *

* * *

“They’re gonna booooooone,” Octavia sung, and Jasper laughed heartily. Bellamy didn’t say anything, he just stared down at the food in front of him, appetite gone again. He flicked a fry at Octavia, and she threw a chicken bone back at him. He was glad to have her around, even if only for a week. 

He knew that she was only humouring him by coming to stay, but he was relieved. At least this way, he could keep an eye on her. He knew his over-protectiveness would get him in trouble with Octavia the second she fell in love again, but for now, she found it adorable. He sighed contentedly when she gripped his hand and yanked him up, urging him to take her home so she could unpack for the next few days. They reached the car and he could practically feel the call of his bed. 

“I think I’m gonna invite Clarke over for dinner on Wednesday,” Octavia said conversationally, and all the relaxation he’d just felt was replaced with a blanket of tension, “she can bring her boyfriend, I guess. I didn’t talk to him much, but she seems to like him, and I like her.”

“Been here five minutes, you’re already inviting people round to _my_ house,” he grumbled as he turned the engine over.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Somewhere else in the city, a figure was entering an office. 

“You have anything to report?” The person behind the desk asked. 

“Nothing yet. Blake and Griffin still seem to hate each other.” The figure leaned against the doorframe, clearly aching to leave.

“Yet she seems to have fallen in with the regular Thursday crowd. They’re going to be spending a lot of time together. It could be a problem.”

“It won’t be. You didn’t see them interacting – they can barely make it through a conversation without arguing.”

“That doesn’t matter – they might still manage to let something slip to each other. If one or both of them figure anything out, then all the work we’ve done over the last five years is for nothing.”

“I’m telling you–”

“I want you to up your surveillance.”

“Are you kidding me?! You know I have an actual job to do, I cannot just sit around a bar all day to babysit Blake and Griffin.”

“Fine, then put someone else on it, someone you trust. But if they fail, you fail. It is up to you. Up it to at least weekly – I need to know that they are still in the dark about what really happened with Jake Griffin.”

The figure scoffed but nodded, and left the room, while the person behind the desk tapped their fingers. After a long moment, they picked up the phone.

It rang a few times before the person down the other end answered, “What do you need?”

The person behind the desk sighed, “I’m just ringing to inform you that Blake and Griffin are in the same social circles.”

“For how long?”

“A few weeks now. I’m told they despise each other, but I’ve upped the surveillance all the same.”

“A few WEEKS? You didn’t think to inform me before then?!” The other voice sounded furious.

“I wanted to make sure we had a handle on the situation first. And we do. It’s handled.”

“It better be. Because you know what I can do to you. Your whole family, your money, everything you care about, will vanish in an instant if you ever cross me. Do not fail.”

The line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS! I really hope you're enjoying it so far, I'm putting my heart and soul into this and I just love these characters so much. 
> 
> It's a pretty quick update today, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep updating this fast. I'll keep you updated though. 
> 
> My tumblr is talistheintrovert, just like here, so feel free to come and say hello!


	4. Poor Little Rich Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn shows his true colours, and Bellamy is worried about Clarke.

### 

_Poor little rich boy_  
_All the couples have gone_  
_You wish that they hadn't_  
_You don't want to be alone_  
_But they want to kiss_  
_And they've got homes of their own_  
  
_And you don't love your girlfriend_  
_You don't love your girlfriend_  
_And you think that you should but she thinks that_  
_She's fat but she isn't but you don't love her anyway_  
  
**Poor Little Rich Boy - Regina Spektor**

Clarke was late and Bellamy was worried. 

He kept telling himself that it was ridiculous to be worried, because he barely knew Clarke, and for all he knew, she could be notorious for not being on time, but he doubted it. 

He had made lasagne for dinner, Octavia’s favourite, and just in case Clarke was vegetarian, he made her a spinach and ricotta one as well. If she was vegan, he would only have water to offer her, but he had a feeling she wasn’t. Not if the way she’d torn into Jasper’s ice-cream was anything to go by. 

He left it in the still-warm oven to keep it hot, so it was ready to go the second she showed up. Unfortunately, she wasn’t showing up, and there had been no text to explain why. He found himself getting annoyed again. 

He’d grown a little more fond of Clarke in the last week, but she was still irritating, and not being punctual was one of his pet peeves. 

It had been half an hour when Octavia loudly announced, “I’m calling her!”

When Octavia had rung her four times with no response, Bellamy’s anger turned to worry.

* * *

* * *

_Three days earlier:_

Monday nights at Jasper’s were amazing – the food was terrible, and the beer was cheap, but it was always a good time. 

It had been the same in college, although back then, the dorms had a much more noticeable weed smell.

Tonight, Finn was there too, the first time he’d been, and Miller and Murphy were apparently due to stumble in after work. Clarke was most surprised, however, to see Bellamy and Octavia, already sitting on the couch playing Mortal Kombat, when they arrived. Monty was sitting next to Bellamy on the couch, and Harper was on the floor beside him, both of them silently pouring over some kind of case file. 

Jasper was in the kitchen making drinks and pouring bags of chips, and he cheered loudly when they arrived, distracting Bellamy enough for Octavia to use a combo. 

“Don’t usually see you here,” she said to the bartender, and Jasper handed her a rum and coke. 

“He pops his head in about once a month, usually, but the only times he’s ever guaranteed to visit are when Octavia is here,” he said, handing a beer to Finn, “she’d kill him if she ever missed game night.”

“I’m killing him now,” Octavia pointed out, eyes on the screen, and her fingers started bashing the buttons more aggressively. 

“Goddammit, O!” Bellamy shouted, throwing his hands in the air and offering the controller to Monty, “your turn Green, maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“Nah, me and Harper need to finish with this first,” Monty said, then looked over his shoulder, “Clarke, you take over, maybe you can finally end Octavia’s brutal reign of terror.”

“Not making any promises, but I’ll give it a shot,” she said, squishing onto the couch beside Octavia. 

“So, how do you know the ‘delinquents’?” Octavia used Miller’s nickname for the group and she grinned as a new round started. 

“I went to college with them. Spent my last three years of med school in Polis though, and then I travelled as a doctor for a year, so it’s been a while since we’ve really hung out. They came up every few months or so when I was in Polis, and I came down too, but it’s nice to actually be here more permanently again.” 

“Why’d you move to Polis if you like it here?”

“My mom. We had an argument and she moved me. When I said I wasn’t interested in leaving, she told me that she was paying for it, so I would do what I was told,” Clarke grimaced and mashed the buttons, “so I did. I regretted it, but I regret most things involving my mother.”

“Your step-dad is Marcus Kane, right?” Octavia asked.

“Yeah, he is, and no, I don’t pass on complaints,” Clarke said, sounding more than a little rehearsed.

“No, I actually think he’s doing kind of a great job – best job he can do with the resources he has, anyway.”

“Me too,” Finn said, sitting down on the arm of the sofa and watching the screen, “damn, Clarke, you’re good at this.”

“Yeah, she is,” Jasper said proudly, “she used to wipe the floor with everyone back in college. Don’t reckon you’ve played it for a few years though, right Clarke? A little rusty?” He teased, just as Clarke K.O-ed Octavia.

“I’d say I’ve still got it,” she shot back, beaming, and he hugged her over the back of the couch, even as she grumbled, “don’t trap my arms, I need those to crush Octavia in round two.”

Octavia snorted and they resumed playing, talking a lot less now that there were actual stakes to the game. She’d easily beaten everyone else, but Clarke seemed to really want to win. 

“What about you, you live in Polis, do you like it there?” Clarke asked, still staring straight ahead.

“I like it sometimes. It’s technically a better place to live, more upmarket, but me… I’m a wrong side of the tracks kinda girl,” Octavia said, leaning forward as she got more into the battle.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Besides, I come back here all the time – there’s still loads of people skipping out on bail in Arkadia.”

“Although I suppose the people that do it in Polis are more likely to be fraudsters than drug dealers,” Clarke noted and she nodded, grinning even as Clarke started gaining the upper hand.

“Yeah mostly, although we get some forgers too.”

Clarke laughed and Octavia used the distraction to try and launch an attack, but the other woman was too fast, and she found herself dead again.

“Y’know, I have to give it up, you are too good. You have bested me,” Octavia said, mock bowing as she handed the controller back to Bellamy. 

“You too chicken or do you wanna go a round, Blake?” Clarke asked.

“Sure, if Monty’ll let us use his room,” he shot back, and Octavia elbowed him. Finn was now openly glaring at him and though Clarke would usually say something raunchier in response to get under Bellamy’s skin, she went in a different direction.

“You couldn’t handle me,” Clarke waved a hand nonchalantly and started a new game.

Bellamy wasn’t as good as his sister, but he held his own for a while before she crushed him into the dirt. Jasper tried next, then Monty, then Finn, then Harper, and one by one they all failed before her.

When Miller and Bryan arrived, even they couldn’t defeat her, and she began to feel a little selfish. Finally, Murphy sidled in, and she actually had a tough time. 

“What’s the matter Clarke?” Bellamy joked, “Losing looks good on you.”

Clarke felt a fire of annoyance in her belly and used it to fuel her button mashing, until Murphy became the final victim of her massacre. 

She stuck her tongue out at Bellamy and he rolled his eyes and smacked Murphy in the back of the head, “I can’t believe you failed me. You were our last hope!”

Eventually, Clarke had to hand off her controller to someone else, so the others could remember what it felt like to win, and she retreated to the kitchen for some air. Finn followed, and they chatted for a little while until he admitted he needed the toilet. When he stepped away, Octavia took his place, jumping up on the kitchen counter and swinging her legs wildly. 

“You fit in well,” Octavia said. 

It wasn’t a question, but Clarke felt she needed to justify it anyway, “I’ve known them for nearly ten years.”

“No, I mean… of course you fit in well with the delinquents, but you’ve known the others for a month and they’re already acting like you’re part of the family.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke raised an eyebrow and downed the last of her drink. She poured herself another one and started sipping it while Octavia explained. 

“Miller adores you, clearly. You can tell, because he keeps whispering nice things about you to Bryan and cheering you on even though we all know you’re going to win. Murphy genuinely enjoys talking to you, which is rare, and he humours Finn, even though he clearly doesn’t care for him. And Bellamy really likes you.”

Clarke nearly choked on her drink, and she started coughing loudly, “What?!”

“He’s not, like, into you or anything,” Octavia seemed confused by her reaction.

“Bellamy doesn’t like me – he barely tolerates me,” Clarke said, “he hated me the day we met, and not a whole lot has changed since then.”

“Oh please, Bell hates everyone when he first meets them. I’m telling you, for him to joke around with you like that, and to fight with you the way he does, it means he’s invested enough to care. If he actually didn’t like you he just wouldn’t address you at all, like how he won’t even give Finn the time of day.”

Clarke pondered that for a moment, and then her boyfriend returned and struck up a conversation with Octavia. The three of them chatted for the better part of an hour, reminiscing about Polis and arguing about which café did the best coffee.

By the time the evening was drawing to a close, Clarke was back on the couch, curled up between Jasper and Bellamy, and Finn was chatting animatedly to Harper across the room. She was drifting off while she watched them, and Jasper paused the game for a moment.

“Finn, you might need to take your girlfriend home soon, she’s drooling on my shoulder,” he said, and Clarke sat up. 

“I am not,” she stretched, “but we should get going soon, I’m exhausted.”

“Join the club, Princess,” Bellamy said, and when she glanced over, he really did look wrecked.

Octavia keyed her number into Clarke’s phone and told her she would call the next day to organise hanging out. Clarke wasn’t paying much attention, and she was a little tipsy, but she nodded along anyway and managed to get all the way to the car before she fell asleep.

* * *

When Octavia had asked Clarke to come for dinner, she’d been surprised, but she’d gladly accepted. 

“Of course,” she said down the phone, “I’d love to. As long as it’s alright with Bellamy?”

“Oh, who cares what he thinks. Bring your boyfriend too – he seems nice,” Octavia offered, and Clarke felt herself smiling.

She couldn’t wait for Wednesday evening. She really liked Octavia, and despite her disagreements with Bellamy, she knew he wasn’t really as big of a dick as he tried to appear. Hell, he’d driven for hours in the middle of the night to bail his sister out of jail. That was a step in the right direction in Clarke’s book.

So on Tuesday morning, wrapped around her boyfriend, she told him excitedly about dinner, and he’d been nearly as enthusiastic as her. He spent the next couple of hours asking about it, texting her questions from work – did he need to wear anything in particular, should they bring food? – and Clarke had been spurred on by his fervour.

When Wednesday morning crept in, Finn rolled out of bed first, and crept into the kitchen to make breakfast. He never worked Wednesdays, so they always enjoyed being together all day: eating and watching TV and... other activities. She slowly woke up, blinking the sleep from her eyes and squinting in the sunlight streaming in the windows. They’d slept in, neither of them needing to be anywhere, and she was sure it was about 11:30, but she was reluctant to look at the clock.

She just wanted to enjoy this moment – the ability to sleep in and not feel guilty about it. She rolled over and put on some mascara – much as she knew Finn liked her just as she was, she always felt better with a little bit of make-up on. It was a relic from her days as a med student; without make-up, she felt like the bags under her eyes were the prominent feature in her face, but there was never enough time to apply it. So every day she just put on mascara, to make herself feel a tiny bit better, and it worked, so even after she quit, the habit had persisted. She didn’t even need a mirror, it was just reflex at this point.

After Finn had been in the kitchen far too long for her to bear, she stumbled blearily down the hall, wearing only his shirt and some underwear. When she arrived in the kitchen, there was a gorgeous, thin, dark-haired woman standing there, gaping at her. 

She rubbed her eyes, “Hi! I’m Clarke… who are you?”

She assumed it was one of Finn’s college friends, until the girl’s face dropped, and Finn came into the room. 

He stopped dead in his tracks. 

He looked like a deer caught in headlights as the woman turned on him furiously.

“I’m his _girlfriend_ ,” the woman had spat, not taking her eyes off him, “we’re long distance, so I figured I’d drop in and surprise him.”

Clarke snapped awake immediately, realising what was happening, and felt a horrible weight crash down on her chest. She couldn’t breathe, so she stood there for a minute in total silence, just staring at Finn, who refused to look at her. 

Raven glanced over at her, “So I take it he never told you I existed?”

“Yeah he did. But he said you broke up a long time ago,” Clarke said weakly, and Raven shoved Finn.

“What?! What the fuck, Finn?!” She started yelling something about their history together, and Clarke retreated. 

She pulled on some pants, and a bra, and started packing her things. She went back to Finn’s room to grab her suitcase and started throwing things in it, moving on autopilot. 

It wasn’t until she was fully packed and walking to the door that Finn seemed to find his voice.

“Clarke?! Clarke, please don’t leave, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her, but she recoiled, looking at him with disgust. 

“You’re sorry to me? Why don’t you be sorry to your goddamn girlfriend, asshole,” she hissed, and disappeared from his apartment, refusing to look back.

Her suitcase was in her car, and she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t have anywhere to stay. She sat in her car, with her hands on the steering wheel, and felt the wave of panic cresting. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe through it, but it was no use. The panic attack ripped through her chest and she couldn’t breathe, and she couldn’t see, and everything felt like it was falling apart all over again.

Two months. Two months she’d been with Finn. She’d finally let herself feel something for someone instead of random flings and awkward first dates. She’d finally opened up, and let herself be happy, for the first time since her father died, and this is what she got. A cheating asshole who lied. 

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, hyperventilating in her car, but she knew the sun was almost vertical above her when she got in it, and now it was sitting in her rear view, blinding her slightly. 

She had cried herself out as the day wore on, and now she needed to pull herself together.

She started the car and drove, not really sure where she was supposed to be going, but eventually she ended up at The Dropship.

When she walked in, she was sure she looked like hell. 

Miller and Murphy were leaning against the bar, laughing with Roma, and there were only three people in the whole place. She supposed it was early, for a bar – past the lunch hour but before the desire to drink in the evening really sets in. 

She didn’t care; she had a desire to drink now. She stomped up to the counter.

“Rum,” she said crossly, and Murphy raised an eyebrow at her. 

“You’re lucky Bellamy isn’t here, you know how frustrated he gets,” he joked, but Clarke wasn’t in the mood.

“Rum, please,” she said tired, and Murphy poured her some. Bellamy’s name had triggered something in her head, something that she was forgetting, but she was sure she would feel more focussed just as soon as the golden liquid hit her throat.

Unfortunately, she finished the glass far too quickly, and asked for another. Miller and Murphy exchanged a concerned look, but they slid her a glass. 

Her phone started ringing, and she answered it automatically, regretting it when Finn’s voice said, “I’m so sorry Clarke, I really was gonna end it with Raven. I’m in love with you. I know it’s only been two months, but I swear, Clarke–”

“Your promises mean nothing to me. If you call me again I will set fire to your car,” she snapped, and hung up, throwing her phone across the room. “More alcohol please.”

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” Miller asked, as he picked up her phone. It was surprisingly unbroken, although he figured that had something to do with the heavy-duty case on it. He pocketed it, deciding it might be best if she didn’t see it for a while. It kept ringing in his pocket, but he assumed that it was just the same person again, ringing back. 

“No, I want to drink about it,” Clarke said, “Rum please.”

* * *

* * *

Octavia rung a fifth time, and finally got an answer.

“Clarke, thank god, I was worried!” She paused a minute, and Bellamy watched Octavia’s face go from relief back to concern. She straightened, “Miller, why do you have Clarke’s phone?”

She put it on speakerphone as Bellamy shot to his feet.

“Because Clarke is sitting in my bar, drinking herself to death,” Miller said, sounding anxious, “I’m gonna cut her off in a minute, but I think it’s best if Bellamy’s here when I do.”

“What, why?” He asked.

“She’s, uh… she’s angry, and much as Murphy and I are game for a fight, it might be easier if you can just subdue it.”

“Did you just refer to Clarke as an it?” Octavia asked.

Miller winced down the line, “This isn’t Clarke. This is an angry monster who’s drinking an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey, because she decided Murphy’s rum choices weren’t good enough.”

Bellamy snatched up his keys, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

When he arrived at the bar, he saw what they meant. Clarke was leaning against the corner, knocking back drinks and slamming glasses down with loud bangs. 

Every movement was angry, and the other customers looked uncomfortable. Bellamy could understand why Miller was cutting her off. He approached her carefully, placing a hand between her shoulder blades, and she stared up at him for a moment, before she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. 

He stumbled a little, taken aback, and looked to Miller and Murphy for help, but both of them looked as shocked as he felt. 

She started sobbing into his shirt, and he sighed and pulled her in closer, “What’s going on Clarke?”

Clarke just sobbed harder, and he felt his nose start to throb as his face flushed from both embarrassment and anger at whatever had made her so upset. He had to be nice, so he took a breath and extricated himself from her so he could look her in the face. 

“Clarke? C’mon, everyone’s worried about you. You skipped out on dinner with Octavia so you could drink all afternoon, being angry and throwing things.”

“I didn’t throw things, I just threw my phone,” Clarke said, reaching for another glass of whiskey, but Bellamy slapped her hand away.

“Nope! No, you’re cut off.” 

She turned her angry gaze back to him, “Fuck off, Bellamy.”

“No. Now, you’re either gonna tell me what happened, or I’m going to sling you over my shoulder and take you home by force.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Clarke’s eyes overflowed with tears again, “I don’t have a home.”

“Well, no, but you’re living with…” he trailed off, seeing her desperate expression. He felt anger growing in his chest, but he stayed calm when he asked, “What did Finn do?”

“ _He fucking cheated_.”

Bellamy was past anger and sitting somewhere near rage now – he didn’t care much for Clarke, but he did care about respecting other people, and cheating was fucking despicable. 

“What?!” He growled, barely keeping his cool. 

“But the worst part is, he didn’t even cheat on me. He was cheating on his long-time girlfriend… _with me_.” She pressed her palms to her eyes, as if the pressure would stop the tears from falling, “He made me into the other woman. He made me a bad person.”

Bellamy grabbed her cheeks in his hands and turned her roughly up to face him, “You are not a bad person Clarke. You’re annoying, and snobby, and don’t ever order your drink properly, and you care way too much about the correct way to make coffee, but you are not a bad person. That fucking asshole is the bad person, for making you feel bad.”

“For what it’s worth, he’s right,” Miller said reassuringly, and Murphy nodded, glowering.

“Do you want me to beat him up for you?” He offered, and Bellamy smacked him upside the back of his head. Clarke chuckled. 

“No, that’s fine… I guess I just needed…”

“To drink it off,” Bellamy acknowledged, “Fair enough. Come on then, let’s go.”

Clarke looked almost frightened for a moment, “Where?”

“My place,” Bellamy said, “Octavia’s in the spare room, so you can take mine and I’ll take the couch.”

“No, no, no, I can’t ask you to do that!” 

“You didn’t, Griffin, and it’s not a suggestion. You’re too drunk and too upset to do anything else. I’m your only option.”

“Great,” Clarke muttered, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to do anything. You stay at mine tonight, and for as long as you need to, and you look at apartments, and you move on with your life. But tonight, you don’t have to do anything except go to bed.” He said softly, and helped her off the chair. 

He nodded at Miller and Murphy, and Clarke waved at them dejectedly as they left the bar. He saw Clarke’s car, sitting further down the lot, and he rummaged in her purse for her keys. He settled her into his passenger seat and then jogged to her car to grab her suitcase from the trunk. He tried not to notice how much nicer her car was, but he couldn’t help it. The seats were leather.

* * *

Octavia was standing in front of his building, waiting for them. Her face fell when she saw the state of Clarke, but Bellamy just shot her a look and she grabbed the suitcase. 

He scooped Clarke into his arms, and she protested feebly, but tucked her head into his neck anyway. The elevator ride felt longer than usual, and Octavia kept glancing over at Clarke, who was silently crying into Bellamy’s shoulder. He readjusted her slightly in his arms, and she buried her face in his shirt, trying to hide her face from the world. 

He knew that she’d be embarrassed tomorrow – he knew enough of her to know that getting drunk and crying on someone she didn’t like wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence. 

He tucked her into bed, drawing the covers around her gently, and put her suitcase where she could see it. She was asleep before he left the room. 

He flopped down on the couch beside Octavia, who was pretending to watch a nature documentary. The unspoken question hung in the air for a while, and he was considering letting her stew in it, but eventually he gave in.

“Her boyfriend’s a scumbag,” he said, and Octavia turned the TV off altogether.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're in this for the long haul because there's some serious backstory coming up in the next chapter! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you're all enjoying it.
> 
> Finn's such an easy Act 1 villain, but it's so much fun to write, sue me!


	5. Hold In Your Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is very hungover, and the Blakes turn out to be the perfect nurses.

### 

_The kids were waking up hungover_  
_The neighbors were starting up their cars_  
_The garbageman were emptying the dumpsters_  
_Atheists were praying full of sarcasm_  
  
_If you just hold in your breath til you come back up in full_  
_Hold in your breath til you thought it through, you fool_  
**Genius Next Door - Regina Spektor**

Clarke woke up with one of the worst hangovers she’d ever had. Her head felt like a small construction crew had taken up behind her eyes, jackhammering and sawing and making horrible grinding noises. Her throat was dry and scratchy, and she felt more nauseous than she’d felt since college. 

When she finally cracked an eye open, the dim light through the curtains felt blinding, and she immediately wanted to throw up. She sat up quickly, but there was already a bucket by the bed, and she hurled into it, feeling disgusting. 

It took her a moment to remember where she was, until she heard a familiar deep voice through the door say, “Clarke’s up. You can go get some groceries now.”

“What, no I should stay,” Octavia’s voice responded.

Clarke threw up again.

“Octavia, you cannot use Clarke being hungover and sad as an excuse to avoid helping me around the house. While you’re there, how about you buy some stuff that you think’ll make her feeling better?”

“You mean like a voodoo doll?” Octavia asked, her voice getting fainter as she moved further away from Clarke’s door. Bellamy snorted and the front door rattled. Octavia was gone. 

Clarke sat up a little, looking around. She was in Bellamy’s room. 

It was nice – neat, with a series of history documentaries stacked up in front of the small TV, and light blue walls. The curtains were drawn, but the light was pouring through them anyway, which probably meant the window directly faced the sun in the mornings. The clock on the bedside table told her it was 8:30am, and she tried not to think about the fact that she’d slept almost 12 hours – she hadn’t done that since before high school. Her suitcase was by the door, and she was still in yesterday’s clothes. 

The events of the previous day flooded in, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if closing them would stop the memory of meeting Finn’s _girlfriend_.

There was a tap at the door, “Clarke? Are you alright? Can I come in?”

“It’s your room, Blake, you can do whatever the hell you want,” Clarke grunted, and he laughed as he entered.

“Y’know, if I didn’t feel bad for you, I would make a very inappropriate joke right now,” he said, and he looked better than Clarke had ever seen him.

He was in loose jeans and a comfy looking t-shirt, his hair clearly just washed, and there was a damp towel draped over his arm. The other hand rested lazily in his pocket, and he was looking at her with a kind expression, smiling. 

“S’okay, the joke is implied,” Clarke mumbled, rubbing her eyes. 

He chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed, and she realised why he looked so good: he looked relaxed. Every other time she’d seen him, he looked tense, even when the bar was closed and he was sitting with his friends. But now, he looked calmer, more at home.

“You alright?” He asked again, and she shook her head pensively. 

“No, but I will be,” she said.

“That’s the spirit,” he replied, eyes raking over her concernedly. 

She suddenly felt self-conscious and pulled the covers a little tighter over her knees. She hadn’t looked in a mirror since Tuesday, and she had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t want to. She knew her hair must be a mess, and she was definitely an interesting shade of green from the nausea. She slept fully clothed, and there must be mascara streaking her face from all the crying. 

She winced, “Oh, I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He looked confused.

“I’m pretty sure I smeared mascara all over it when I cried on you,” she said sheepishly and he laughed again. She was also pretty sure she’d never heard him laugh so much. 

“Don’t worry about it, I raised Octavia, so I’ve got more tear-stained shirts than I can shake a stick at.”

Clarke nodded, and then regretted it, her head spinning. She felt the nausea wash over her again, but before she had time to move, Bellamy was holding the bucket up to her, his hand rubbing small circles on her back while she threw up. 

She stayed there for a long moment, leaning over the bucket with her eyes closed, trying to focus on Bellamy’s hand instead of the bile in her throat. The weight at her back left and she was about to protest when he felt her forehead, brushing her hair aside. 

“Your temperature’s not too high, but I don’t recommend doing a whole lot today. Just take it easy, okay?” 

She was going to say something, but she couldn’t formulate a response, partially because his hand was still on her face, brushing stray hairs out of her eyes, and partially because she felt sick again. 

He moved closer, readjusting the bucket and moving his hand back to her shoulder blades. She managed to keep it together this time though, and she breathed slowly, waiting for it to pass. 

“You okay?”

She huffed, “You don’t have to keep asking that, you know.”

He chuckled again, “Hey, you helped me with my nose, and you don’t even like me. The least I can do is ask if you’re okay.”

“I do like you, Bellamy,” Clarke said, sitting up a little, inspecting his face as she did so. It looked better – still a little coloured, but better. Bellamy made sure she didn’t need it and put the bucket down tentatively on the floor, making sure it was within quick reaching distance. She grimaced, “You may be a total ass half the time… but for some reason, I do like you.”

“Way to make a guy feel special,” he joked, his hand still splayed between her shoulders, “For the record, I like you too. You’re annoying, but I like you.”

“Thanks,” she said, “I think I want a shower.”

He moved out of her way and pointed her towards his bathroom. She pulled a change of clothes from her suitcase and grabbed the towel he offered from his cupboard. She listened carefully when he told her where all the toiletries were but none of it really registered until she was standing under the hot water. 

As it cascaded across her face, she opened her mouth to try and wash out the taste of vomit, semi-successfully. She shampooed her hair with Octavia’s bottles in the corner, but Octavia didn’t have shower gel, so she borrowed some of Bellamy’s. She aimed to scrub every residual memory of Finn off her skin, and when she stopped, she was red raw, but she felt a lot better. Her nausea was almost entirely gone now, but her headache had gotten markedly worse, and it felt like her eyes were about to drop the bass, they were pounding so hard. 

She stretched forward away from the shower head, trying to ignore the pain, and breathed in the moist air. She had really needed this. Not just the shower, but the drinking, and the hangover, and the friends who jumped to her aid. She’d needed all of it to remind herself that she was more than one crappy day. 

She smiled as she realised that she had just though of Bellamy Blake as her friend; of course he was, he had driven out to pick her up when she was drunk and then slept on the couch while she stayed in his room. She knew very few people who would do that for her, and he’d done it without a second thought. 

She stepped back under the water.

By the time she was finished, she felt cleaner than she had in a few days. 

She got dressed, ran her fingers through her hair, and finally chanced a look in the mirror. It was steamed up, but she knew that however she looked now, it was a damn sight better than twenty minutes ago. She wiped it and stared at her face. It still looked tired, but her colour was returning, and there was no residual mascara – thank god for shower gel. 

She emerged to the smell of bacon and eggs, and something sweet. Octavia was pouring coffee and Bellamy was standing by the sizzling pans, alternating between each one as he added salt and pepper. 

The small table was set, with cutlery and maple syrup and tomato and barbecue sauce laid out ready to eat. 

“I hope you feel well enough to eat something, cause I’m not letting you say no to food,” Bellamy said, without turning around. 

“Morning,” Octavia said, grinning, “How was your night?”

Clarke slumped into the nearest chair, “Just grand.”

“You’re not… you’re not gonna start crying again, are you?” Octavia asked nervously, and Clarke looked at her, puzzled.

“How is it that Bellamy let me drunkenly cry all over him, but you’re scared of a few sober tears?” Clarke asked, and Octavia shrugged, but said nothing. Clarke leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the cool wooden table, “No I’m not gonna start crying again. I’m done crying over Finn.”

“Good,” Bellamy said, depositing a plate of food, and her phone, in front of her, “he doesn’t deserve a second thought.”

She sat up and peered at her cell - Jasper, Monty, Harper, Miller and Murphy had all messaged her telling her they loved her and though Finn was the worst, which dramatically improved her mood. She moved her phone aside and dragged the food closer, gasping at the contents of the dish. There was bacon, some kind of omelette, small pancakes, some fruit, toast, and a sausage. She glanced up at him in amazement.

“I didn’t know what kind of food you ate, so I sort of…”

“Made everything,” Clarke said, and started shovelling food in her face.

“it’s an older brother thing. He sees a sad girl, he has to come to the rescue. It’s, like, wired into his DNA,” Octavia teased, nudging Bellamy aside so she could put a coffee in front of Clarke. 

“Well, for the record,” she said through a full mouthful of food, “I eat everything.”

“I can see that,” Bellamy muttered, and Octavia hit him.

Just as Clarke moved to start on the pancakes, her phone started ringing. She looked down and saw Finn’s name flashing up. Bellamy clenched his jaw.

“How many times did he ring while I was asleep?”

“Too many,” he said gruffly, “I would have told him to fuck off myself, but I figured that was your prerogative.”

“Good call,” she flashed him a grin and stood up, walking back into his room to answer it. She sat down on the edge of his bed and stared straight ahead, “What do you want, Finn?”

“Clarke?! Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” she replied dryly, and she could hear him pacing.

“I’m serious, Clarke, you just disappeared yesterday. You’ve got nowhere to stay, and I know you’re angry at me, but please just come back. I promise I’ll explain everything if you just come back. I was so worried about you!”

“I’m safe, you can stop calling now.”

“Please, Princess–”

“No, you don’t get to call me that anymore!” Clarke snapped, “I don’t care if you love me, and you were going to break up with Raven. Hell, I wouldn’t even care if I meant nothing and you were begging for Raven back. I. Don’t. Care. I stopped caring the second I realised you lied to me.”

“Clarke, please…”

“Stop calling me, Finn.”

She hung up and threw the phone on the bed, returning to the kitchen. Bellamy and Octavia were leaning against the stove, clearly discussing something important, but they stopped when she slid back into her seat. She speared some pancake with her fork, and they shared a looked before approaching her.

“You smell like Bellamy.” Octavia commented, and Clarke shrugged.

“I borrowed his shower gel,” she said steadily, trying to remain calm. She downed some more of her coffee and Octavia put another pot on, ready for when they’d finished the first round. Which, judging by the way Clarke was wolfing it down, would be soon. 

“Weird, I was gonna say you smelt like Octavia. Shampoo?” Bellamy asked, and she nodded, too busy ramming omelette into her mouth to actually answer. 

She knew that they were desperately searching for conversation topics to distract her, but she was distracting herself with food, and they seemed to realise it might be better to just join her for breakfast. 

They took a seat either side of her and dug into their own meals, smacking each other when they both reached for the juice at the same time. Clarke watched them with amusement, her mouth too full to comment. Octavia won, although Clarke had a sneaking suspicion Bellamy had let her, and she drank nearly the entire carton of juice before she handed it to him. 

“I hate you,” Bellamy grumbled, but the tone didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Sure,” Octavia said, unconvinced. 

“Still feel like going to The Dropship tonight?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke nodded furiously, “Absolutely. I need to have fun today.”

“This isn’t fun?” He joked and she flicked a slice of apple at him. 

“Are you working?” She asked nervously. She’d feel better if he was there. Much as she could lay Finn out with a single punch if she wanted to, she’d like to have the might of the three army buddies to back her up. 

“Yeah, all three of us,” he replied, seemingly reading her mind. 

“Good,” she felt full, and realised that she’d eaten nearly everything on the plate. 

“You coming, Octavia?” Clarke asked.

“Of course!” Octavia said, turning to Clarke, “hey, so I’m going home on Friday, but if you ever want to visit Polis, you can always stay at mine. _And_ , if you ever need someone to pull Bellamy in line, just give me a call and I’ll drive down to smack him. He’s spent the last few weeks whining about how annoying you are, so imagine my shock when I got here and you were super cool.”

Bellamy had the decency to shoot an embarrassed look at Clarke, but she just laughed and nudged his shoulder with her own, “To be fair, I think I’ve been doing the same.”

“Oh, do you have siblings?”

“Ah, not quite. I’m an only child, but my dad worked with this guy… um, and they lived close by, and his son basically lived with us most of the time, cause his dad was always away. So was mine, but my mom tried to be there when she wasn’t working too many hospital hours. So Wells and I are basically brother and sister.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Do you fight like siblings too?” Octavia joked.

“Actually, no. We never used to fight, and then… Um, after my dad died I sorta… I took it out on him, a bit.”

“Oh.” Octavia said, subdued, “Why?”

Bellamy shot her a warning look, but Clarke didn’t mind. She had to talk about it at some point.

“Because his father murdered my dad.” She said glibly, “Does anyone want my bacon, I’m full?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even express how chuffed I am that so many people like this story! I honestly wasn't going to even post it for so long, until one of my friends told me I should. Thank you so much for making it this far, and I promise the conspiracy heats up soon!  
> I know I said the backstory would be in this chapter, but it was getting REALLY long, so I split it in half - lots of backstory in the next chapters guys.
> 
> Come say hello to me on tumblr - I'm talistheintrovert everywhere.


	6. Sing The Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke opens up about her father, and moves in with Bellamy while she looks for an apartment of her own.

### 

_Lady sing the blues so well_  
_As if she mean it_  
_As if it's hell down here_  
_In the smoke-filled world_  
_Where the jokes are cold, they don't laugh at jokes_  
_They laugh at tragedies_  
_Corner street societies_  
_But they believe her_  
_They never leave her while she sings_  
_She makes them feel safe_  
  
**Lady - Regina Spektor**

Octavia was sitting wide-eyed, staring at her with a fork full of eggs halfway to her mouth. Clarke pushed her plate away and gulped the rest of her coffee down. She smiled apologetically at Octavia, but when she looked to her left, Bellamy was as stiff as a statue, staring down at his plate with an unreadable expression. 

“Your dad was murdered?” Octavia asked, and Clarke nodded, “I’m sorry Clarke.”

“It’s okay, it was five years ago,” she said, but she was lying and they all knew it.

“What happened?”

Clarke folded her hands in her lap under the table and stared at them while she spoke. It all came out in a rush, because she knew that once she started, she had to keep going until she finished. She’d never really had to tell anyone the story before. Her friends all knew her when it happened, and she hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell Finn yet. 

“He was on his last tour in the army – one last tour and he was out. He was supposed to be out after the previous one, but my mom pushed him – told him one more tour would pay for the last of my med school, so he went. While he was there… he found out that some of the other officers were stealing from the villages they were supposed to be helping. They were a peacekeeping force, not a hostile takeover, but they didn’t care. It was making the villagers angry, and some of them started working with the enemy out of spite. It was putting soldiers in danger, and some of the units got attacked.” 

She looked at Bellamy, who was gripping his fork so hard she thought it might break, the hand closest to her balled into a fist on his thigh. 

“Dad… Dad found out that his friend, his oldest fucking friend, was one of the ringleaders, skimming profit from the soldiers who were stealing, rather than reprimanding them. And because my father was a good person, he tried to talk to Jaha. I don’t really know the details, all I know is that sometime in the middle of the night, on February 18th, five years ago, Thelonius Jaha shot and killed his oldest friend for the sake of his profit and his reputation.”

When she paused to take a breath, she looked up to find Octavia had pushed her plate away and was sitting forward, listening intently. She glanced at Bellamy, but he seemed to be trying actively not to listen, and his stare was boring a hole in his empty plate.

“He tried to hide it, make it look as if some of villagers did it, make it look as if he just got caught in the crossfire, but he was caught.” Clarke closed her eyes.

“I was so… angry, for so long. I was angry at my mom for making him stay in the army, I was even angry at him, for letting her push him into it. I was angry at Wells because of his father, and I was angry at his father, because he was supposed to be his _friend_. But mostly I was just angry at myself, because if I hadn’t let my mom push me into med school, we wouldn’t have needed the extra money. Or if I’d just taken out student loans like a normal person–”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Octavia interrupted, “none of this is anyone’s fault except the guy that pulled the trigger.”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue, but Bellamy reached across and held her hand tightly under the table. He wasn’t even looking at her, when he said, “I am so sorry, Clarke.”

“It’s not your fault either, Bellamy,” she murmured, and he finally snapped his eyes to hers, wild with pain and anger, probably matching her own.

“I noticed. I even accused Murphy of being in on it – he’s a self-serving asshole if ever I’ve met one – but he denied it. And he was so angry when he found out, that I believed him. He’s not a great person, but he is a good man, you know? So I told Miller, and the three of us were going to say something, but before we could…”

“You got ambushed.” Clarke squeezed his hand.

“That’s not all of it though, is it Bell?” Octavia raised an eyebrow suggestively, and he sighed. 

“We overheard Shumway talking about it, talking about how he wanted more of the profits and was gonna usurp Jaha to do it. I remember he said something about the money going to Australia,” he said.

“My father mentioned in one of his letters to me that he thought the money would be going overseas – Cayman Islands, that sort of thing,” Clarke interrupted and he nodded.

“So we discussed how we were gonna take them out – we didn’t know how many people were involved – and Shumway’s second, Dax, found us. That night, people with guns started storming our quadrant. Someone had tipped the enemy off.”

“Dax,” Clarke nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. 

“We were stuck for three days, and at one point, we were all convinced we were gonna die. I made my peace with it, and right around the time I was ready to throw in the towel, they retreated. The day we got attacked was the same day Jake was murdered, and they realised pretty quickly what had happened. So, they pulled the rest of the troops out and sent a rescue in to get us.”

“We all had to give statements at Jaha’s trial, and Murphy was thrown in contempt for trying to jump the barricade and strangle him.”

“Remind me to buy Murphy a drink,” Clarke said softly, and he managed a small smile in her direction. 

“I went back, served my last year, and then got out as fast as I could,” he finished, “my enthusiasm for the military about dried up when Jake died. Not that there was much there to begin with.”

“Mine too,” Octavia offered, and reached out to grab Clarke’s free hand, which she was using to fiddle with her knife absentmindedly. 

“I know it doesn’t mean much,” Bellamy said softly, “but your father deserved better. The best. He was a good man.”

“I know,” she whispered, “but sometimes I wish he’d been a little less good.”

They sat there for a while, in comfortable silence, and with one Blake sibling in each hand, Clarke suddenly remembered what it felt like to be understood. Her friends had all been supportive when it happened, but supportive didn’t make her feel like she wasn’t losing her mind.

This, however – this felt like something approaching normalcy, and for the first time in five years, Clarke felt herself relax. 

The Blakes had very different styles of comfort, she noticed. Octavia was clasping her hand in both of her own, holding it tightly as though she’d never let go. Bellamy had started off like that, gripping her fingers so roughly she thought he might cut off her circulation, but now he was rubbing small circles on her knuckles with his thumb. 

She interlaced their fingers and he flinched a little, leaning away slightly. 

“Calm down, Blake, I still hate you,” Clarke teased.

He laughed and sipped his coffee, not letting go of her, “Likewise, Griffin.”

“Unfortunately, I think I might respect you now,” she said quietly. 

He sighed, “Octavia can help you with that. I’m sure she’s still go those embarrassing photos of me in high school with slicked back hair. Or, I’m certain she can regale you with a story or two.”

Octavia perked up, “YES.”

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh as Octavia let go of her hands so that she could gesticulate wildly as she spoke. 

“You don’t know Bellamy very well yet, and I know he seems like the strong, broody, silent type, but he’s actually just a huge dork,” Octavia started.

Bellamy smacked himself on the back of the head, like he would usually do to Murphy, “I’m gonna regret this.”

“Too damn bad, Big Brother,” Octavia said, grinning wickedly, “Anyway, so he was six when I was born, and he was going through a Roman history phase–”

“Not a phase, O, I still love Ancient Rome – Greek Mythology’s the most interesting though.”

“Don’t interrupt, it’s rude,” Octavia snapped good-naturedly, and he started banging his head on the table as she continued, “Of course, when Mom told him he could name me, he remembered that an emperor called Augustus had a sister, and I bet you can’t guess what her name was…”

“Ah, he went with Octavia,” Clarke said, “I like it.”

“I’m lucky I wasn’t called Septimius, or Zeus!”

“Well, Zeus was Greek, and didn’t exist.” Bellamy pointed out.

She glared at him, “Anyway, his first date ever, he had a choice between picking a romantic movie, or the two-hour documentary on Pompeii – what do you think he chose?”

Clarke cringed, “No, Bellamy!”

“Oh fuck off,” he grumbled. 

“She was not impressed, and did not request a second date,” Octavia finished smugly, and he rubbed his hand down his face, seemingly trying to erase the memory. 

“Well, just so you know, I think rom-coms are overrated. But a documentary? On a first date? That is bad form, Blake,” Clarke snarked, and he rolled his eyes at her. 

“She told me she liked ancient history. How was I supposed to know that she was lying to impress me?”

“Because she was a teenage girl, moron,” Octavia reached across and smacked the back of his head, and Clarke realised, with some amusement, that the habit ran in the family.

* * *

That night, she was curled up next to Jasper after she filled them in on the events of the previous day, and all of them were placating her rather aggressively. They kept periodically circling back to how much of a dick Finn was, even when the conversation had long since turned to happier things. 

“You need to get laid,” Harper said, waving a fry wildly to emphasise her point, “I’m serious girl, you need to go out and find a sexy person to make you feel better. Male, female, doesn’t matter, you just need to _bone_.”

“I’ll get around to it, I’m sure. Right now, though, I’d just like to forget about everyone except my friends for a while.”

“Good thing you’re staying with us tonight then,” Monty said. He had picked her and Octavia up from Bellamy’s after he’d gone to work, and he’d offered to put her up on the couch. When they told Jasper about it at The Dropship, he was beyond enthusiastic to have Clarke around. Bellamy was less excited when she told him she was leaving, but he didn’t argue. She presumed he just felt bad about her having to sleep on a couch, but she genuinely didn’t mind. 

“I’m with Harper, you need to have crazy, passionate sex, with as many people as possible,” Octavia agreed. She knocked a shot back, “that’s what I did after I broke up with Atom. It really helped.”

“Urgh, gross, O, I did NOT need to know that,” Bellamy hissed from the bar, and she flipped him off.

“How about you stop listening in and start doing your job then, Big Brother?” 

Cage Wallace wandered in and flashed a charming smile at her as he approached the bar.

“Him! What about him?” Harper asked excitedly.

“No, I’m serious, Harper, I just want to take my mind off sex and relationships altogether – tonight is just about me hanging out with my friends,” Clarke rubbed her forehead tiredly. 

“Alright, but I’m just saying, he’s clearly an option. He digs you.”

“He _digs_ me? How old are we, fifteen?” Clarke joked as Harper threw back a shot and nearly choked trying not to laugh. Octavia clapped her on the back, trying to stifle sniggers of her own, and Bellamy smiled at them from behind the bar. 

He was grateful his sister got along so well with his friends, and he was glad that she and Clarke seemed to click so quickly. He hadn’t thought, a month ago, that he would enjoy having Clarke Griffin in his life, but as she’d pointed out, they respected each other now, even if they did still argue constantly. There was a lot less menace in their tone nowadays, and he was thankful for it. 

“Twice in one month, Wallace?” Miller asked teasingly beside him, handing Cage a drink, “You haven’t come in more than once a month in three years! What, did you get some kind of promotion?”

“You could say that,” Wallace said, downing the drink, “So, you’re friends with Clarke, right?”

“Ah, so this is about Clarke,” Miller realised, grinning. 

“No, I’m in here celebrating a promotion,” Cage said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “and if I just happen to notice that a cute blonde is here again, I might be inclined to approach her.”

Miller sighed, “Any other night, I’d point you at her and watch you try, but her boyfriend cheated on her yesterday. So maybe give it some time before you approach.”

Cage nodded, “In that case, I’ll be in next week.”

He put the money down and left, waving at them, shooting one last glance at Clarke as he did so, something pensive in his gaze. 

Octavia and Harper made teasing ‘woo’ noises at Clarke and she sunk down lower in her seat until she was almost under the table.

“I hate you guys.”

* * *

She had been staying on Jasper’s couch for three days, because despite Bellamy having offered, she felt weird staying in his room if he was on the couch. She had spent the last two nights in restless, uncomfortable sleep, but she loved spending time with Monty and Jasper outside of a bar setting. She missed the old days when they used to spend every day together, and it felt nice being there. But after Octavia left on Friday morning, she really didn’t have a good excuse to keep staying on a couch when there was a perfectly good room available at Bellamy’s.

And he knew it.

Which is why he turned up at Jasper’s record shop in his lunch break on Saturday. 

Clarke had been helping him around the store as a way of paying rent. She did insist that she had the money, but he refused to accept it. Instead, when he’d told her he’d rather die than let her pay to stay with him, she’d basically forced him to accept her help. She knew he didn’t really need it – running the shop was a one-man-job – but she liked spending time with him. 

“Any new old shit in Jasper?” Bellamy called out as he wandered in.

“You realise that makes no sense, right?” Clarke said in response, and he rolled his eyes and leaned against a beam. 

“Well if the owner was in, he'd know what I meant.” 

“He is in, my man,” Jasper emerged from the back, precariously balancing a stack of records and beaming over the top of it. 

Bellamy noticeably tensed, waiting for them to fall, as they sometimes did, but he seemed to have a hold of them this time. 

“So?” Bellamy asked expectantly.

“Got some Blue Oyster Cult, Otis Redding, there’s always Sinatra... if you want actual new shit, Alt-J's second album is in coloured vinyl over there.” 

He looked tempted, but then he caught Clarke's eye and remembered the reason he was visiting, “actually I’ll take a rain cheque. I was coming to invite Clarke to stay in my spare room.”

“That’s a great idea!” Jasper gushed, but Clarke rolled her eyes. 

“I said no, Bellamy,” she started rifling through the section she was standing in, depositing new records alphabetically, “I’m looking at apartments now, I’ll find one in less than two weeks, and then it won’t be a problem.”

“Excellent – where are you going to live for those two weeks? And don’t say here, because much as Jasper and Monty love having you around, you’re not really being fair to yourself.”

“Fair to myself?” She looked confused.

“I’ve slept on that couch, Clarke,” he pointed out, “it’s murder.”

“It is more suited to late night video game wars than guests,” Jasper acknowledged sagely, pushing his ridiculous goggles further up his head. Clarke loved those things – he’d had them as long as she’d known him, and according to Monty, longer than even he had. 

“Clarke, look. I’m not trying to get in your pants, I’m not doing you a favour, because you’re going to be helping me out, and if it bothers you that much, you can even pay rent, and I’m not taking no for an answer,” Bellamy said matter-of-factly, and she was tempted to say no just to spite him.

Unfortunately, he was right – two nights on that sofa was more than enough. She sagged and trudged upstairs to grab her suitcase. By the time she was making her way back downstairs, Bellamy and Jasper were in serious discussion.

“The anniversary is coming up soon,” Jasper sounded almost sombre, and she stopped in the stairwell, knowing that if she was caught eavesdropping, the offer to stay might be rescinded, but unable to stop herself.

“Yeah, I know. Less than two months. I don’t know if O is even coming back for it, and honestly, I’m not sure I want her to. It might be easier to spend it alone,” Bellamy sounded even more solemn than Jasper.

“Can I do anything?” 

“Just keep trying to find it. I know it’s somewhere, but I also know it could be destroyed, or out of the country by now.”

“Don’t give up now, Blake,” Jasper said, and Clarke heard a thump, presumably of him patting Bellamy’s back. 

“Who’s giving up? I’m just being realistic,” he replied, and Clarke couldn’t take it anymore.

She deliberately dropped her suitcase down the last few steps with a series of bumps, and wandered down after it, turning into the shop. 

“Did elephants raise you?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow, “Because that was impressively disruptive.”

“You sound like a schoolteacher,” Clarke leered back, and he rolled his eyes and led her out to his car. She deposited the suitcase and he drove off, promising to meet her at his place. She gave Jasper a hug and he got down on his knees and tugged at her coat, passionately begging her to return.

He was mid-speech when a pretty dark-haired customer entered and he straightened like nothing had happened, nodding at her politely. 

“I’ll see you on Thursday. It’s only four days, I’m sure you and Monty will manage,” Clarke said, halfway out the door.

“Oh no! However will I break the news to Monty that you are no longer with us?” He called back as she left.

“I’m not dead, Jasper!” she retorted, chuckling all the way to her car.

* * *

Bellamy’s apartment was small, but nice, and he kept it clean. The kitchen was in the middle of the house, a bedroom on either side and the living space seemed to flow through it all. It was fairly open plan except for the two rooms.

The bathroom was behind the kitchen, between the bedrooms, and it had a door leading in from both.

“Don’t worry, it locks from the inside, so we’ll never walk in on each other,” he reassured her, “unless you forget, in which case I’m probably going to see you naked.”

“That’s helpful, thanks Bell,” she’d snarked back. 

The shower was part of a bath set-up, and he showed her how to switch between the two. He explained where everything was in the kitchen and pointed to his DVD collection in the living space, but he soon left her to her own devices. 

She explored the small open space, eventually finding her way back to the living room. There were two bookshelves either side of the window, well-furnished with both fiction and non-fiction, and she couldn’t help but run her fingers along the spines. She grabbed a copy of The Book Thief and curled up on the couch to read it, barely registering hours later when Bellamy returned from work.

* * *

* * *

The week and a half she’d been there had gone swimmingly, almost too well, and Bellamy was just waiting for something to go wrong, but so far, she'd been a perfect roommate. 

She'd finished moving in on Sunday, and while the apartment was a lot more full now, he found he didn't mind too much. He even made space for her on his bookshelf, although she didn't ask for it, and she was so delighted that she promised not to get any paint on his walls. Which of course prompted the question, "Were you _intending_ on painting my walls? Just to annoy me?" 

Which she conveniently didn't seem to hear. 

When Monday rolled around, he was used to sharing his space, and he found he actually liked having someone else around. She even managed to drag him to game night at Jasper's.

* * *

On Tuesday he realised that they had almost identical taste in music, which made sense: Jasper judged people pretty harshly on their musical preferences, and he adored Clarke. Honestly he should have figured it out sooner. They spent that morning loudly singing at each other with his speaker on full blast while Clarke did the dishes and he vacuumed the living room. 

* * *

On Wednesday he strolled in after work at about midnight and collapsed on the couch. He was planning on watching a documentary on the Persian Empire and then going to bed, when he heard a loud thunk and an irritated yell.

“Putain!” Clarke’s voice was sharp through the wall, and he sprung to his feet immediately. 

“Clarke? You okay?”

A string of curse-words was snaking under the closed door, some in French, mostly in English, and he found himself smiling. 

“Yep, just fell over my shoes.”

“Right. Do you often swear in French?”

She laughed as she emerged, “Yeah, I guess so. It’s a habit I picked up when I was a med student – better to say ‘fuck’ in another language so patients have no idea what you mean and don’t have the opportunity to get offended.”

He chuckled and she tilted her head at him. 

“You understood me.”

“Yeah, Octavia did a six-month exchange in college. I was going to visit her, but the timing never quite aligned. Still remember everything I learned though, even if I can’t use it. Never set foot in France, but I can definitely speak it more fluently than Octavia. I’m fairly certain she forgot every word the second she touched down back on home soil.”

“I should have known. You’re such a nerd.” Her smile was genuine, affectionate even.

“Va te faire enculer,” he shot at her and she scrunched her nose in amusement. 

“Ooh, language! No need to be testy.”

“Tu me fatigues,” he said, rolling his eyes, and she appraised him knowingly.

“Be honest – you only learned French so you could chastise Octavia in two languages, right?”

He doubled over he was laughing so hard, and she couldn’t help but join in. 

When he finally calmed down, he wiped the tear from the corner of his eye, “Obviously.”

“Un si bon frere,” she said sarcastically and he threw a cushion at her. 

Things were different after that. They were more comfortable with each other, yelling French insults when their arguments got heated, so both of them knew that it wasn’t serious. 

* * *

Thursday night was a blast, and for the first time, Bellamy and Clarke were laughing together as they drove home afterwards. 

* * *

She'd been there a week when on Saturday, she found his Neil Gaiman collection and started reading through it with no small amount of vigour. 

* * *

On Sunday, Bellamy had a day off, and he spent the whole morning in the kitchen making recipes he'd never tried before, being intermittently mocked by Clarke, who was curled up on the couch. She'd finished _American Gods_ and made her way through the first three volumes of _Sandman_ by the time he put food down on the table, and she stopped teasing him the second she started eating. 

* * *

Monday was an easy shift at work and they managed to close at midnight, so when he got home, she was still awake, reading _Stardust_ with her knees curled up beneath her. He sat down beside her on the couch and flicked on the TV, half-expecting her to tell him to move, but instead, she just unfurled herself and draped her legs across him. He rolled his eyes, but he didn't shove her away, and she continued reading while he watched a documentary about Genghis Khan. 

Tuesday was a similar work day, but when he got home Clarke closed _Neverwhere_ and jumped to her feet. 

"I keep borrowing your books," she started. 

"I don't mind, it's nice to have someone around who appreciates them. Octavia just calls me a nerd."

"I'm not finished," she glared, but there was no malice in it, "I keep borrowing your books, and I feel like it's unfair, because I don't have as many, but... I thought maybe you might want to read my favourite book. I think you might like it, although it's not in your collection. I don't know, you might have even read it already."

"Sure!" He was beaming at her now, and she shifted a little, before pulling a book out from behind a cushion on the couch. He took it from her and read the title aloud, " _The Long Dark Tea-Time Of The Soul_. Well that's an interesting title."

"It's a Douglas Adams book - one of the Dirk Gently ones."

"Oh, like that show?"

"The Netflix show is a _travesty_ , don't even get me started." 

"No, isn't there a BBC one?"

Clarke stared at him, her mouth slightly agape.

"I mean, I watch a lot of British channels - they have excellent documentaries - so I end up seeing a lot of shows. I really liked that one, it was on after something on Stonehenge."

"You're such a freak," Clarke joked, once she'd lifted her jaw off the floor, "and yes, it is that Dirk Gently. He also did _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_."

"I loved that book as a kid!" Bellamy gushed, "I love the way he blends sci-fi, humor, and introspective ruminations on people."

"Well in that case, I have a whole Douglas Adams collection I can offer you."

"I never thought you'd read this kinda stuff," Bellamy admitted, "I figured you were more of a..."

" _Fifty Shades of Grey_ kinda girl? Nah. I just really like sci-fi and fantasy and mystery - they're interesting and you can get totally lost in those worlds. Sometimes it's a damn sight better than being present in this one, y'know?" Clarke asked nervously.

He nodded, "Yeah, that's exactly how I feel!"

* * *

By Wednesday, Bellamy was really starting to think of her as his closest friend, although he’d never tell Miller or Murphy that. 

He caught himself wondering what his life was like before Clarke became a part of it and realised that he had no idea. He'd known her a month and a half, and he hadn't even liked her for half of it, but now she was living in his apartment, telling lewd jokes and arguing with him. She had crept up on him, become such a huge part of him; she was filling up all the space he hadn’t noticed had been empty for so many years. She was his best friend, and he had a feeling that he was starting to become one of hers. They still argued constantly, but it was more like teasing now, even if it annoyed their friends. He couldn’t imagine living another day without Clarke annoying him, or making him laugh, or swearing in French.

He’d brought women round on two separate nights that week, Saturday and Wednesday, and Clarke hadn’t complained about it once, barely acknowledging his existence on those evenings. She kept to her room, and every now and then there was soft classical music playing, but otherwise not a peep. 

They had managed to work out eating breakfast together, laughing and talking about movies and music and a whole host of other things he hadn't realised they had in common. Seeing as he worked evenings, he was rarely around for lunch or dinner, which he had never really noticed when he lived alone, but neither of them complained. They were both fiercely independent people, although Bellamy found that he relied much more heavily on their group of friends than he'd ever admit to. He hoped she was eating when he wasn't there, and that she wasn't still tearing herself apart over Finn, but he wasn’t going to baby her – she wasn’t his sister. 

In fact, it seemed she was the one worrying about him – constantly watching him while he ate, to make sure he finished it. It seemed she took the job Miller had assigned her seriously, and she always put leftovers on the table for when he arrived home from work late. 

He’d only ignored them once. The next morning, when he came out for breakfast, she’d been sitting at the table, glaring at the untouched meal. He’d apologised and explained that he’d eaten at work. She’d made him swear that he’d eaten, and told him that if she found out otherwise, she would start staying up later and force-feeding him. He’d rolled his eyes and told her to stop worrying, and she’d snapped back, “Even if Miller hadn’t asked, I’m not an idiot. I notice things, Bellamy. I notice that you spend so much time worrying about everyone else that you forget to take care of yourself.”

He’d stared at her, shocked at how easily she’d seen through him, “It’s not your job to take care of me either, Clarke. You can’t distract yourself from your own problems by worrying about mine.”

Clarke had sucked the air in through her teeth, “I’m not. I just want you to eat properly.”

The conversation had ended there, and things had gone back to normal, but he felt as thought Clarke had more to say, and he knew the argument would probably start up again sometime soon.

The next night, he'd brought home a girl for the first time since she'd moved in, and she hadn’t argued with him about it, so a few days later, he’d taken home another – a fast-talking, dark-haired woman called Sparrow or Raven or something. Her leg was in a full brace, but he didn’t think it was polite to ask, so he didn’t, and she didn’t say anything about it. She was cool, and gone before he woke up, which was perfect.

* * *

He wasn’t even sure Clarke knew the women were there until Thursday night when the usual gang were hanging around The Dropship in the last hour.

“How’s living with Bellamy going?” Monty asked, more than a little drunk.

Clarke snorted and pushed her own drink towards him, willing him to drink it, “so far so good, although his conquests have been a little loud.”

The table erupted in laughter and Monty wobbled slightly, “I wish I could have a conquest. I’m so over-worked, and I don’t have any game. Teach me your ways, master?” 

“Patience, young Padawan, the force will reward you in time,” Jasper waved his hand mysteriously and the group started cackling again. 

“Not you, Jasper, your game is worse than mine! I need Bellamy’s help!” Monty whined drunkenly. 

“I’m not sure what to tell you, Monty, it just happens. I’m nice to them, and it happens,” Bellamy offered, and Clarke snorted at the idea that he was nice, so he flipped her off. She responded by throwing a half-eaten chicken finger at him and he snatched it out of the air and finished it. 

Their petty silent squabble could have gone on for a lot longer if one final customer hadn’t walked in a minute before close. 

“Hi Bellamy,” a voice behind Bellamy said, and he turned to see Raven Reyes, in the same red jacket she was wearing on Wednesday. He squinted at her, wondering why she was staring at Clarke so intensely. 

“Hi Raven,” he said, glancing between her and his friend. 

“Hi, Clarke Griffin,” Raven rolled the name around in her mouth, testing it out. 

“Hi,” Clarke sounded a lot less enthused than she had been a minute ago. Something clicked in his head and he sunk down a little further in his chair. If he’d known that Raven was Finn’s girlfriend before he slept with her… he probably still would have, but at least he would have thought twice about it. 

“Hey, look, I just want you to know that I dumped Finn, punched him in the face, slept with this fine piece of ass,” she gestured at Bellamy, “and started renting an apartment here.”

Clarke took a moment to register all three pieces of information, and then she sat up slowly, “You dumped Finn?’’

“Yeah. I know it’s not your fault that you didn’t know I existed, and he kept talking about how great you were, and how he felt bad. Disappointingly, in all those speeches, he never mentioned how he felt bad for me. So I dumped his cheating ass.”

“You slept with Bellamy,” Clarke realised, “Oh my god was that you yesterday?!”

She stared at them, not judging, just observing.

Bellamy cleared his throat quietly and Raven leaned on his shoulder, “Yep. Sorry, I know I can be… vocal.”

“You’re renting here? You’re not going back to Polis?”

“Nah, I can’t. Too much Finn there. His parents live in my street, and they’re close with my parents. We’ve known each other all our lives and been in love for at least half – but apparently that means less to him than it does to me. Besides, I was only staying because he was supposed to get his skydiving licence and then move back and start his own business. So I’m moving here, getting a better job and forgetting all about it.”

“Where are you living?” Bellamy asked politely.

“Fox Street, in an apartment complex, at least for now,” she said, dangling the keys from her fingertips. 

“Oh my god that’s where Bellamy lives!” Harper chimed in helpfully.

“I know,” Raven shrugged, “I noticed when I was doing the walk of shame yesterday morning that they had an apartment free. On the floor below yours. My friend Emori was moving to town anyway, so she’s living in the other room with me and we’re splitting rent. She gets here in a few days. I'm moving in tomorrow.”

Clarke was unusually quiet, and Bellamy glanced at her, making sure she wasn’t upset. She caught his eye and nodded, confirming that she was fine, so he relaxed back against the seat. Miller locked the door and turned the music up, as per usual, and Raven looked startled. 

“Sit,” Clarke offered, scooting up to make room, “tell us all about yourself. Or just talk about how much you hate Finn.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to stay, I just… wanted you to know that I don’t blame you.”

“Cool, but you should stay anyway. If you don’t feel like talking, you can just listen to Jasper and Monty argue over something nerdy and trivial.”

Raven sat down and Harper scoffed, “More like, listen to _Clarke and Bellamy_ argue over something nerdy and trivial.”

Monty nodded, “It’s true, you two have kind of taken our argument crown.”

“Your arguments will always be the most entertaining, ours are just pedantic. Just because she won’t admit that the best part of The Book Thief is the use of colour as a motif, doesn’t mean that we’ll ever take your crown, Monty.” Bellamy say wryly, and Clarke threw another chicken finger at him.

“The best part is that it’s narrated by Death you jackass!” 

“Oh god please don’t start that again,” Miller begged, tapping his beer to Bryan’s and taking a long swig. 

“Would you like to revisit the debate about best sci-fi show instead?” Murphy asked tauntingly and everyone let out a resounding;

“No!”

Bellamy made sure to smack him in the back of the head for good measure. 

“That’s an easy choice – Stargate,” Raven said, and the floodgates burst. Everyone started discussing the merits of her decision, weighing it against their own choices. It carried on well into the early hours of the morning, and by the time everyone finally got around to leaving, it seemed to be silently agreed upon that Raven was the newest member of the delinquents. She was given an open invitation to return and bring her friend with her next time, and she knew she was going to take them up on it. 

She had been in town for less than a week, had her life torn apart, and then she put it back together by herself, bigger and better than before. She was the best damn mechanic she’d ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations:  
> Va te faire enculer - "fuck you"  
> Tu me fatigues - "you annoy me"  
> Un si bon frere - "Such a good brother"
> 
> Thank you for reading! Clarke's tragic backstory is sad, but Bellamy's is coming up in a few chapters, so I hope you've got some tissues because lord is it depressing. 
> 
> Come say hello to me on tumblr - I'm talistheintrovert there too!


	7. This Is How It Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven moves into her apartment, and Clarke opens up to her a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of action this chapter, just developing the relationships between my beautiful main characters, but there's drama coming up soon!

### 

_No, this is how it works_  
_You peer inside yourself_  
_You take the things you like_  
_And try to love the things you took_  
_And then you take that love you made_  
_And stick it into some_  
_Someone else's heart_  
_Pumping someone else's blood_  
_And walking arm in arm_  
_You hope it don't get harmed_  
_But even if it does_  
_You'll just do it all again_  
  
**On The Radio - Regina Spektor**

Raven and Clarke had exchanged numbers the previous evening, so when Clarke and Bellamy were eating breakfast on Friday morning, she shouldn’t have been surprised when her name flashed up on her phone. 

She and Bellamy shared a look, and he leaned back in his chair and watched her as she unlocked her cell.

> **RAVEN 9:57am:**  
>  _Hey Griffin, look I don’t want to impose or anything, but I’m moving into your building today, and I was wondering if you wanted to come and hang out with me while I unpack? Bring Bellamy, he’s cool too. You don’t have to help or anything, it would just be nice to have someone to talk to. Emori doesn’t get here for another couple of days._
> 
> **RAVEN 9:57am:**  
>  _Y’know what, forget it, you’re probably busy or something._

Clarke showed them to Bellamy and he grinned.

“Tell her we’ll be down in an hour,” he said amiably, throwing a piece of melon up and catching it between his teeth.

> **CLARKE 9:58am:**  
>  _You’re right, we’re very busy, eating… and… and nothing else, we’ll be down in an hour. And of course we’re going to help, don’t be ridiculous!_

Raven sent back a bunch of excited emojis and Clarke cleared the table. She started washing up, and Bellamy tried to shove her out of the way.

“No, you cooked, I clean, that’s the rule,” Clarke rolled her eyes exasperatedly – they’d had this argument a lot.

“Yeah, usually, but you need a shower before we go meet Raven, and your hair takes forever to dry.” He said matter-of-factly. 

She paused and shot him a bemused look. 

“We’ve lived together for two weeks, and you’re already mothering me,” Clarke snickered, “Octavia told me this would happen, I should have listened.”

“I am not mothering you, I just remember coming home to a damp couch because you watched a movie too soon after you showered last week. Sorry for assuming you might want dry hair to help Raven lug furniture into her apartment.”

“You’re right. But you _should_ be sorry for assuming that I’m the one who’ll be doing the heavy lifting.”

“Yeah sure,” Bellamy said sarcastically, “cause Clarke Griffin is going to let her new friend unpack on her own.”

“No, I meant I’d make you do it,” Clarke joked as she disappeared into the bathroom. 

He snorted and finished the washing up. When he’d dried the last bowl and put it away, Clarke emerged fully-dressed, towelling her hair. He couldn’t help smiling in amusement at the sight, but she only glared at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” she warned, and he held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m not even going to look at you,” he said, brushing past her to his room, so he could change shirts. 

“You better not!” Clarke yelled after him, “Ever!”

He laughed and threw his shirt at her, pulling on the new one. He checked his watch as he walked towards her and pretended to dramatically shield his eyes from her face, which made her roll her eyes dramatically. In response, he grabbed her elbow and waved his other hand frantically, pretending he'd gone blind, “Come on then Medusa, let’s go help Raven.”

* * *

* * *

Raven’s apartment was directly below Bellamy’s, and they knocked on the door, expecting to wait, but Raven just yelled, “It’s unlocked!”

They shuffled in, and realised they had their work cut out for them. There were an insane number of boxes.

Raven was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tearing into one of them and sorting the stuff in it into piles. 

They must have looked particularly daunted, because she waved her arm dismissively, “Don’t worry, half of this is Emori’s – we don’t have to unpack it, we can just shove it all into her room.”

“How’s it going so far?” Bellamy asked politely, checking the names on the boxes and beginning to carry the ones labelled _‘Emori’s Stuff: don’t touch on pain of death’_ into the room Raven had pointed at.

“Well, everything reminds me of Finn, which sucks, but other than that, it’s fine.”

Bellamy nodded and couldn't help mumbling something about Finn being a dick as he ferried the boxes across the apartment.

“Have you told your parents yet?” Clarke was rearranging the furniture in the living room, looking at her sympathetically, and Raven grimaced.

“Yeah. And _his_ parents. And his aunt.”

“What, why didn’t he tell his own parents?” Clarke looked aghast and Bellamy felt his expression probably rivalled hers. He finished moving Emori’s things and started helping Clarke with the furniture. They carried the couch into the right place and set it down before moving over to the kitchen.

Raven just shrugged, “I’ve known his parents my whole life, and he really didn’t want to. Besides, at least this way I got to make it explicitly clear that he cheated.”

“Fair point,” Clarke mused. She pulled a box full of kitchen supplies up onto the counter and started sorting them into cupboards, while Bellamy hooked up the fridge.

“Anyway, how’s living with Bellamy?” Raven changed the subject. 

“It’s horrible, I hate it, he’s the worst,” Clarke joked, flicking his arm with the springy end of the whisk she was holding. 

“I agree,” Bellamy teased back, “I never should have let you move in.”

“Let me?!” Clarke gaped at him, “I think I remember you bursting into Jasper’s shop and demanding that I move in with you!”

“Well, _demanding_ is a bit strong–”

“Really? Bellamy _‘I’m not taking no for an answer’_ Blake? Demanding is a bit strong?” Clarke asked pointedly.

He harrumphed and rolled his eyes, “If you’d stayed on Jordan’s couch any longer you would have been begging to stay in my spare room.”

“T’es rien qu’un connard.”

“I am _not_ an asshole,” Bellamy sighed, “ferme ta gueule.”

“How about you shut _your_ mouth, you irritating fils de pute!”

“Guys, stop! Oh my god, I can’t believe you can argue in two languages.” Raven snapped, trying to hide her amusement behind her hand. Bellamy shoved the fridge in place and started hauling her empty bookshelf towards her room.

“We do secretly like each other, sometimes,” Clarke said playfully, pulling a knife set out of the box.

“Yeah, very rarely, when she isn’t being irritating,” Bellamy agreed, but they shared a look. All their friends only saw them like this – debating with each other across the table at the bar, or sniping at each other on game night – but they really were close friends. He wondered what their friends would think if they could see the two of them eating breakfast together, or if they could hear the two of them shouting trivia at each other across the apartment until Bellamy left for work and Clarke disappeared into her room.

Raven was watching them carefully, and something seemed to click in her head, “Oh my god, you two slept together!”

Clarke and Bellamy turned in unison, “What?! No we didn’t!”

“Are you sure?” Raven looked genuinely shocked. 

“I think I would have noticed,” Bellamy pointed out, trying to ignore the fact that his heart had skipped a couple of beats at the idea, and Clarke snorted. 

“Yeah, it’s not like that. We’re just… I dunno, I guess we’ve just become actual friends now. Instead of people who tolerate each other because we share friends.”

Raven still had that funny look in her eye, but she dropped the subject, and Bellamy felt the slight uptick in his heart rate abate and it returned to normal. He didn’t want to think about sleeping with Clarke. He was happy: he really liked her, and he didn’t need to ruin it by suggesting something that she didn’t want and then making it awkward. 

He was proving with Raven that he could very easily continue a friendship with someone he’d slept with, but it was different with Clarke. 

She’d been vulnerable with him, which made it different. 

They were different. 

He couldn’t think about her like that. 

Once he opened that door, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to shut it. 

“Bellamy’s doing the late shift, he doesn’t start until two this afternoon, so he’s going to make lunch. He was thinking about making chicken curry.” Clarke said conversationally, “I don’t know if you’re a fan, but you could come up and have some if you like?”

“If not, I can make steak, or there’s fish in the fridge.” He said, glad of the new topic. He continued pushing the bookshelf until he had set it up beside Raven’s bed, and when he emerged, Raven was smiling at him. He went to sit next to the two of them, helping them sort through a box of clothes. 

“No, curry sounds amazing! I didn’t know you could cook, Blake?”

“Oh yeah, he’s a regular Gordon Ramsey,” Clarke said, and he knew that the compliment was about to get petty because she elbowed him in the ribs, “in that he spends most of the time yelling at me, even when I’m not in the kitchen.”

“In my defence, that happened one time, because you moved my strainer. And I’m not that great of a cook,” he tried, but Clarke was shaking her head emphatically.

“Don’t do that. Octavia told me that you taught yourself to cook so that she would get balanced meals every week instead of easy ones. She told me that you got really good at it after your mom hurt herself falling down some stairs and you took time off school to help her.” She said and he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“O, I’m going to kill you,” he grumbled up to the universe, as though, hours away in Polis, Octavia could feel his displeasure.

* * *

* * *

Clarke had just finished giving Raven a tour of their apartment, which hadn’t taken long, when her phone started ringing. 

When she looked down and realised that it was Finn who was calling, she shoved it back in her pocket, but Raven had already seen it. 

“Does he call you a lot?” She asked quietly, but Bellamy overheard and looked murderous. They went and sat at the table and he started arranging vegetables on the chopping board, watching Clarke carefully. 

“Yeah,” Clarke admitted, “He’s been trying pretty much every day. He hasn’t come into The Dropship yet though, I think because he knows that he’ll get kicked out.”

“Or he’ll get his teeth kicked in,” Bellamy said angrily, chopping onions. 

“Down boy,” Raven joked, “I already punched him once.”

“He’s lucky he wasn’t there when I went to pick Clarke up that night. I would have thrown him into the jukebox.”

“And you wonder where Octavia gets it from?” Clarke laughed and he crinkled his nose in her direction. 

“I know where she gets it from, I just wish she made more of an effort to be better than me,” he pointed out.

Clarke hated it when he put himself down like that. She ran her hand through her hair in frustration and leaned forward aggressively, “That’s a high bar, Bellamy.”

He snorted and scraped the onions into a pan, missing the earnest look Clarke was giving him. Neither of them noticed the way Raven was watching the two of them with vested interest.

“So what’s your plan, Clarke? With life, I mean.” She asked, and Clarke shrunk back a little. 

“Uh, I don’t have one,” she admitted, “not yet, anyway. I have enough money left to last for another six months or so comfortably, before I need to started looking for another job. Oh, can I show you something?”

Raven nodded, and Clarke dragged her into her room. What had previously been a shell of white walls and empty space had become a cacophony of colour. In the two weeks she’d lived there, she’d started painting again, and her room was covered in coloured canvases and dark sketches on scattered pieces of paper.

Raven picked up the nearest one, a sketch of Jasper with his feet up on the table, sitting in their booth. Underneath it was Octavia, reimagined as a warrior queen, and beside that was Murphy and Bellamy, caught mid-laugh, as though Clarke had taken a snapshot of the moment.

“Shit, Clarke, these are amazing!” Raven gushed, grabbing another, this time a watercolour of a bridge in Venice. 

“Thanks,” Clarke said, sounding very small, “I haven’t painted in… a long time. But, I don’t know, something about the last month or so made me want to do it again.”

“Why would you ever stop? _You’re incredible!_ ” 

“My dad… He was the one who encouraged me, and after he died I just couldn’t really find the joy in it anymore,” Clarke explained, and Raven stopped raking through the canvases and looked up at her.

“Oh Clarke, I’m sorry,” Raven sighed, “that’s terrible. Why do you think you’re painting again now? Have you found inspiration? Do you have a muse?! Oh god please tell me it wasn’t Finn?”

Clarke laughed, “No, I don’t have a muse. I think I’m just in a better headspace than I’ve been for a long time.”

“I’m so glad to hear that Griffin,” Raven nodded, “but I hope it only gets _better_.”

“You and me both, Reyes,” Clarke said, an edge of bitterness in her voice. 

Raven decided to move the conversation towards happier things, “So have you shown these to anyone else?”

She looked horrified, “No! No, I can’t.”

“What, why?! These are _phenomenal_.”

“I don’t know, it just feels like they’re extensions of my soul – they’re not for everyone, they’re just for me.”

“But you showed them to me?” Raven was equal parts touched and confused.

“Of course,” Clarke pulled a sketchpad from beneath a canvas and flipped it open. Raven’s own face stared out from the page, arms crossed in a doorway, looking furious. She realised it must have been Clarke’s view from Finn’s apartment on the day she'd found them. Clarke was watching her apprehensively, “I want you to know that you’re my friend. As of yesterday, you are my friend, and no matter how we met, nothing will change that. I know you already have an open invitation to come to game night, and for The Dropship on Thursdays, but I want you to know that you can always come up and hang out here too. Or text me whenever. I'm here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need.”

“Clarke, I don’t know what to say,” Raven felt herself welling up a little. She'd never expected such a warm welcome in Arkadia – she had intended to apologise to Clarke and then move on, but without question, the other woman had accepted her as not only a person, but a friend. 

“You don’t have to say anything, just promise me you won’t tell anyone else about these, because then they’ll all want one,” Clarke joked. 

“Seriously, no-one knows?”

“Nope.”

“Not even Bellamy?” She sounded incredulous. 

Clarke hesitated, “No. He doesn’t know about any of this.”

Raven glanced around, easily counting five portraits of Bellamy, and that was just the ones she could see.

“How is that possible?”

“He’s never been in here. He respects my privacy, and he always knocks and then waits in the kitchen if he wants something.”

“I think you’re living with the perfect roommate, Griffin,” Raven laughed, “Actually he might be the perfect man, full stop, except for his pent-up issues and his crazy obsession with all things ancient.”

Clarke opened her mouth to protest, to tell her new friend that she actually liked Bellamy’s interest in history, when the man himself called out, “Food’s up in two minutes, and I hope you’re both hungry because I made a LOT.”

The conversation ended and they moved back out into the apartment, door closed firmly behind them. She would tell him eventually. She would show him some of the sketches she’d done of him, and his sister, and their friends. 

But not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was a little bit quieter, and thank you so much for reading it!
> 
> I love Raven (who doesn't?) and so I knew I wanted to expand her role in the story from the second I wrote her in, and even if this chapter is a little break from the main story (kinda, there's still breadcrumbs for future chapters in here) it was important to me that she got some time for her relationship with Clarke to be fleshed out a little. 
> 
> Much love!


	8. If You're A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven becomes a member of the delinquents.  
> Clarke feels restless, and calls an old friend.  
> Bellamy just wants to make sure she's okay.

### 

_Ne Me Quitte Pas mon cher_  
_Ne Me Quitte Pas_  
_Down in Lexington they walk in new shoes stuck to aging feet_  
_And close their eyes and open_  
_And recognize the aging street_  
_And think about the things were right_  
_When they were young and veins were tight_  
  
**Don't Leave Me (Ne Me Quitte Pas) - Regina Spektor**

Raven brought her friend Emori to The Dropship on Thursday, and Clarke was quite taken, although that might have been because she and Bellamy had already spent a few days with the two girls on the floor below, helping them settle in. The rest of the group seemed a little frightened of her, however. Clarke could understand why – Emori was a wiry, dark haired woman, like Raven. Also like Raven, she was gorgeous, and witty, but she had a large, black tattoo on her face, trailing down her nose and around her cheek, which was a touch alarming at first. 

Jasper had been eyeing her warily for the whole of the first round, but after she made a few jokes and Clarke had warmed up to her, he seemed to loosen up slightly. 

They all hung around after close, just swapping stories about their weeks and trying to avoid the topic of a certain ex-boyfriend. 

It was the first Thursday that Miller had had off in a long time, usually preferring Thursdays at work. But it was the only night that Bryan had off that week, so he sent his apologies to their friends and went on a romantic night out. Murphy and Bellamy were the only two left behind the bar, Bellamy trying to get everything clean and Murphy counting the till. Bellamy was in charge, but he was more invested in the conversations his friends were having, so while he’d started off counting the till, Murphy had taken over when he kept getting distracted. 

Raven and Clarke had both chosen similar coping mechanisms to deal with their breakups – they were having a lot of one-night stands. Luckily, none of their friends were the kind to judge, and actually, all of them were encouraging the behaviour. 

By this point, Raven had slept her way through half the bar’s regular patrons and Clarke had slept with the other half. They were actually comparing notes while their friends looked on – Raven had slept with mostly guys, and Clarke had slept with mostly girls. 

“Niylah was incredible,” Clarke said under her breath, but Bellamy heard from the bar.

“Niylah?! Totally serious, barely says anything Niylah?” He gasped, polishing the glasses a little more absentmindedly, “That’s impressive, Griffin!”

“Not as impressive as the fact that she slept with Lexa – more than once!” Raven pointed out, and Bellamy nearly dropped the shot glass in his hand. 

“You’re kidding?!”

“No, I genuinely did. She’s actually really cool – in another life we might be perfect for each other, but I’m too damaged right now, and she lives with her brothers, who are intense.”

“Oh Titus and Gustus are her _brothers_? That checks out. Yeah, they always glare at me,” Bellamy said.

“I don’t think they know she’s gay,” Clarke said, “because I’ve hung out with her three days this week, and they haven’t looked at me twice, but if a guy steps near her, they freak out.”

“And I thought Bellamy was overprotective,” Murphy teased, and Bellamy hit him upside the head with the dish cloth. 

“Oh, I also slept with Bellamy, you can add him to my list,” Raven remembered.

“What was that like?” Murphy asked, leaning forward on his elbows, totally disregarding the job he was supposed to be doing. 

Raven raised an eyebrow at him suggestively, “I’d guess better than you.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Reyes,” he shot back, grinning and shooting a sly wink at her. 

“I’d knock it all day, if you’d let me,” Emori fired back, leaning lazily against the table, and his grin only widened.

“Oh, I like her,” he said triumphantly, and refocussed his attention on the money. 

Emori moved to sit on the barstool directly in front of him and made it her personal mission to be as distracting as possible. She started tapping her hands on the bench like a drum, and when that had no effect, she hid some of the money behind her back. Murphy tore his eyes from the counter to glare up at her, but there was no malice behind it. They stared each other down for a long moment, and when she finally returned the notes to the pile, her hand lingered next to his. 

“Gross,” Jasper whispered, and Monty nodded. They self-fived together and Jasper kicked his feet up onto the table, stretching back against Raven, “So, what’s your plan now? Have you got an engineering job here yet? Cause I actually know a guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Raven sounded amused.

“Yeah, Kyle Wick,” Jasper said, offended that she didn’t believe him.

“Wick,” Bellamy agreed, sliding into the booth beside Clarke. He looked tired, but he still managed to knock Jasper’s feet from the table before continuing, “he comes in here sometimes, and he’s usually complaining that he needs an apprentice.”

“Or a partner,” Monty said.

“Or literally anyone to help him,” Harper said, “He’s the best engineer in town, and unfortunately, that means that everyone, and I mean everyone, goes to him for their mechanical problems.”

“He fixed my engine when my car broke down, and while he was fiddling around with it, he adjusted my speakers, because he noticed they needed doing,” Jasper attempted to subtly put his feet back up, “he’s a great guy.”

“You think he’d offer me a job?” Raven was writing Wick’s name down on a coaster.

“Hah! No,” Bellamy leaned back, his shoulder brushing up against Clarke’s, “you should just tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“Go up to him, and tell him that you work for him now,” he replied, trying to stay focussed, even as the warmth emanating from Clarke made him feel, if possible, more tired. 

“I’m not sure that’ll work,” Raven looked unsure.

“Oh, it’ll definitely work, Reyes,” Murphy said, leaning forward over the bar, deliberately across Emori, “Kyle’s a stubborn ass, but a hopeless negotiator. Just bat your eyelashes at him.”

Emori smacked his behind, “You’re quite the ass yourself, Murphy.”

Murphy stood up abruptly and grabbed her hand, throwing the keys back at Bellamy, “We have to go, sorry Blake.”

They left, and Bellamy groaned, trying to work up the energy to finish closing the bar. He felt something moving next to him, and he opened his eyes to see Clarke clambering over him.

“What’re you doing, Griffin?”

“Closing up,” she said, aiming for the counter, but he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her back. She stumbled and ended up in his lap, with his arm wrapped around her. She laughed and smacked his arm playfully, only pretending to try and escape.

“I’m not letting you do my job for me, Princess.” Bellamy said, and she stiffened slightly. It was the first time he’d called her that since the Finn incident. He’d been so careful to avoid it, but he was totally spent, and it just slipped out. 

Everyone was looking at Clarke in worry, and Raven looked a little bitter, but she put her hand of Clarke’s knee comfortingly anyway. 

He pressed his face into her back, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Bell,” she said softly, but he knew it wasn’t. That nickname might have been fun at one point, and it might be again, but it was too steeped in memories of Finn for him to use now.

“No, it’s not. Sorry,” he repeated, and stood up, snatching the keys from her hand, “which is beside the point. I’m locking up, and if you try and stop me, I’m buying you a one-way ticket to Australia!”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she joked weakly, clearly trying to fix the mood. 

She tried to seize the keys back and he threw them in the air, deftly catching them out of her reach and quipping, “How does Sydney sound? Melbourne?”

An odd look came over her features, and his smile faltered, “Clarke?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Clarke?” He repeated, more forcefully, and she shook her head.

“Really, I’m fine. I’m just… thinking.” 

She sat where he’d just been, looking at him with something unreadable in her face, and as he started stacking the chairs, she stopped participating in the conversation around her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed her chin against them, thinking about something intensely. He didn’t want to ask which memory of Finn he’d triggered, so he tried to ignore her as he put away the pool cues.

* * *

Bellamy was beyond exhausted.

It had been over a week since he’d accidentally called Clarke ‘Princess’ and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. She’d been unusually subdued all week – staying in her room and avoiding him even at breakfast. He wondered whether it would be better to talk to her or just give her space, and for the most part he went with the second option.

He even went to game night on Monday, and Clarke stayed at the apartment. Jasper didn’t even try to hide his disappointment when only Bellamy showed up, but he couldn’t really blame him.

He’d begun to prefer the company of Clarke as well, and yet despite living with her, he’d barely seen her. Miller had pestered him all shift to talk to her, but he decided he would just leave her alone; better to stay out of her way than start an argument that wouldn’t fix anything. 

When he’d tried to explain that to Octavia on Wednesday, she’d scoffed down the phone at him.

“Oh my god, Big Brother, you’re such an idiot. She wants you to ask if she’s okay.”

“No she doesn’t, Clarke isn’t like that.”

“Alright, maybe she doesn’t, but you should still ask.”

“Why? Shouldn’t I just respect her space?”

“You’ve given her over a week, I’m sure she feels perfectly respected by you. Now it’s time to step up and actually be her friend.” She said, and he could feel her rolling her eyes. 

“O, I don’t really know how to be her friend. We started off hating each other, and we only really stopped because I realised I used to know her father. That’s not the basis of a strong friendship.”

“You’re such a jackass sometimes, you know that? You’re already friends, moron. You have so much in common, and yeah, you argue, but you both seem to really like it. She cares about you; she opened up to you. You did the same. Because you care about her.”

“Of course I do, O…”

“Well then you need to step up, Big Brother. Be there for her when she needs you.”

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “You’re too wise for your own good sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she laughed back, and then very quickly, “So while we’re on the topic of you being a huge fuckup in your relationships, I’m dating someone and you can’t judge me.”

Bellamy facepalmed, “Christ. Who?”

She hesitated.

“O, who are you dating? I can’t exactly kill him from here, I live hours away.”

“Uh… the police officer who arrested me.” Octavia said sheepishly and he started banging his head against the nearest wall.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, O! Officer Woods?!”

“Yeah. His name’s Lincoln and he’s really sweet. You liked him, right?” She asked nervously.

“I liked him when he told me he’d seen the guy assaulting you so he wasn’t going to keep you locked up. I liked him when he released you from jail.” Bellamy was talking slowly now, trying to wrap his head around it. 

“Look, I know… but he’s really sweet.”

“I leave you alone for _barely_ a month and you’re already–”

“Well, actually, he kinda gave me his number the day I was released. So technically it happened on your watch.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” Octavia said happily, “but like I said, we were talking about how you’re the screwup here.”

Clarke didn’t go to Thursday night drinks, and that was when everyone else started to get really concerned. They all confronted Bellamy but he said he’d hardly seen her and that he wasn’t sure she’d left her room. 

Jasper called her on speakerphone and she’d answered to tell him she was fine and that she just needed a week or two of space to get her head straight. 

Eventually, Saturday rolled around, and Bellamy was exhausted.

He’d worked nine days in a row and he just wanted to shower and then go to bed. Unfortunately, when he arrived home, the bathroom was occupied. 

He muttered to himself and lay down on the couch for a minute, resolving to complain at her the second she finished her shower. But the couch was comfortable, and the apartment was warm, and within a few seconds he had dozed off.

When he woke up, it was to Clarke prodding his arm. He opened one eye to glare at her and she looked apologetically at him, “Sorry.”

He tiredly pulled himself into a sitting position, “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I shouldn’t even be here, and it’s disruptive. I am trying to find an apartment of my own.”

“I know. Seriously, Clarke, there’s no rush. I’m fine,” he said, running his hands down his face. She sat down next to him and stuck her feet up on the coffee table, lolling her head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“And I’m sorry for being withdrawn this week,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to apologise for that, Clarke. I’m sorry I called you Princess – I’m sure that brought up unpleasant memories, and I won’t do it again.”

“That’s not it,” she frowned, “it’s just, something you said last week triggered an odd memory in my head, and I’ve been trying to decipher it. I tried to write it out, I tried to Google it, I even spent the last two days trying to draw it, to see if I could make sense of what isn’t right in my head.”

“What do you think it is?” He asked, concerned. 

“I’ve been thinking about my dad,” Clarke said softly, and he glanced at her. She looked sad, but it wasn’t the Finn kind. That had been an immediate, aggressive sadness that had left as soon as it arrived. This was a look of despondence – something all encompassing, that hides until the person stops smiling and their true feelings are revealed. Her blue eyes were staring widely up at nothing, and she was tapping her fingers against her thighs. 

“Yeah?” Bellamy asked tentatively.

“I just… until I met you, I never really had to talk about what happened. My mother refused to, and talking about it with Wells was too hard. Everyone else just pitied me, or tried to make me feel better. But I never had to talk about it.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, I’m actually kind of glad,” she grimaced, clearly not brimming with positivity, “it made me want to actually face what happened. I didn’t go to the trial, because it was too hard, and I thought if I went then I would finally snap – that would be the thing to send me over the edge.”

“If you had, we would have met five years ago,” he realised, and she nodded, twiddling her fingers more aggressively against her legs. 

“Yeah, and I would have realised, five years ago, that something’s not right,” Clarke muttered.

He sat forward, interested, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just know that something you said has triggered an old memory in my brain, and I cannot for the life of me work out what it is. I just know that something to do with my dad’s death doesn’t feel right.”

“How are you going to work out what it is?” 

“Unfortunately, after spending all week on the problem, I think the answers I’m looking for are in my dad’s letters to me. He always used to do that – write letters, I mean. Whether he was doing a tour or just travelling with Mom, he always used to write to me. He’d call me too, but sometimes, wherever he was would make it impossible to call, so he’d send off letters. They always arrived weeks later, but I was so excited to get them. And I used to send back my drawings, because he was always the one who encouraged me to do that.”

“I didn’t know you could draw?” She’d never mentioned it before, he was sure of that, yet today she’d brought it up twice.

“Oh yeah, I was going to be an artist.” She sounded wistful.

“What happened?”

“My mom,” Clarke sighed, “she was a surgeon, so I went to med school. And unfortunately, my mom is who has the letters.”

“Oh,” Bellamy crossed his arms, “so what are you going to do?”

“Well, I have two options. One, I talk to Mom for the first time in months, and possibly open the floodgates of unfinished arguments.”

“And two?”

“I call Wells and ask him to get them for me.” Clarke winced. She rolled her shoulders, as if steeling herself, and muttered, “Putain.”

Bellamy thought about it for a moment and then put his feet up next to hers, “I don’t know about you, but I’m leaning towards Wells.”

“I’m working up to it,” she said, and he flopped his own head back, trying to mimic her blank gaze at the ceiling. 

“Is that why your fingers are drumming a samba into your legs?” He asked.

She nodded and made a frustrated noise when she stopped tapping and pulled out her phone. 

“Wells? Hey! How are you?”

* * *

* * *

Clarke thought ringing Wells would be difficult, but it had been surprisingly easy. She hadn’t spoken to him since before she decided to quit her job, so there was a lot they had to catch up on. She really had missed him, and hearing his voice made her heart skip a beat.

“Hello?”

“Wells? Hey! How are you?”

“Clarke? Is that you?”

“Um, yeah, I got a new phone, sorry.”

“No problem – what’s up?”

“So… please don’t be mad… I’m back in Arkadia.” She said, glancing to her left. Bellamy was staring at her, his curls falling in his eyes.

“You’re- what? How long have you been back?” He sounded surprised.

“I… just over three months,” she shrunk down a little and Bellamy rested his hand on her shoulder. She smiled at him gratefully. 

“What?! You’ve been back for three months and you never called?!” The surprise now had an edge of bitterness, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Yeah. Sorry, I just… I was worried that if I told you, my mom would find out, and make me come stay with her. I know you wouldn’t _try_ to tell her, but I also know that she would find out. You’re terrible at keeping secrets,” Clarke joked nervously.

“ _I am not_!” He said, affronted, and it was like they were back to normal again. 

“Are too! You told my high school crush that I liked her!”

“I prefer to think of that as being a particularly direct wing-man,” he quipped back, and she snorted. 

“Yeah, and then she told everyone I was a lesbian,” she would have rolled her eyes if they weren’t tamped shut, but Wells was laughing. She heard Bellamy chuckle beside her, and her smile widened. His hand left her shoulder, and she felt his weight shift off the couch. 

“Coffee, Griffin?” he asked as he stood, and Clarke opened her eyes. Bellamy was hovering in front of her, one hand hanging out of his pocket, and the other tousling his hair while he waited for her response. He looked good, and Clarke tried to ignore the tiny part of her that was acknowledging it. She couldn’t like the guy she was living with, at least not like that – they had only just stopped hating each other. They were supposed to be friends now, but her eyes were taking him in a little too greedily for that. She pushed the thought down. 

“Yeah, I’d love one. But you should really shower and go to bed, it’s late, Bell,” she knew she sounded like a concerned parent, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I don’t have work tomorrow, I can just sleep all day.” He grumbled good-naturedly, moving into the kitchen to boil the pot. 

“That’s not healthy and you know it!” She called after him, and he gave her a look.

“Alright, Doctor Griffin, after this coffee, I will go to bed. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” she deadpanned. Her brain started whirring with things other than sleeping that Bellamy could do in bed, and she cursed her active imagination.

“Your boyfriend sounds nice,” Wells said, snapping her back to reality.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she snapped, a little too defensively. Bellamy laughed, and she could almost feel Well’s disapproving stare down the line.

“Really, cause you’re doing the voice,” he said, and she felt her heart constrict. Almost ten years ago, she’d had a crush on a guy they lived near, and when she’d denied it, her father and Wells had both pointed out that she had a tell. She spent weeks trying to convince them to explain what her tell was, so she didn’t do it in front of anyone else. One day, Jake had pulled her aside and told her that it didn’t matter, because only people who knew her better than anyone else would ever be able to figure it out. He and Wells had joked about how they were the most important people in her life, because they knew all her tells. 

After another month had passed and her father refused to elaborate, Clarke had cornered Wells and gotten the information out of him. He said her voice changed when she was talking to the person she liked – it became different, although he couldn’t explain how, no matter how often she pestered. ‘Just different’ he’d said, and she’d huffed about it for months. 

But he was right – he and her father always knew whenever she was bringing home a potential boyfriend or girlfriend, but her mother could never figure it out. 

“Fuck off,” she hissed, knowing Bellamy could hear her, “I’m living with him temporarily, because it turns out my actual boyfriend was a cheating asshole.”

Wells went quiet for a moment, then, “Sorry. I didn’t know. Mainly ‘cause you haven’t even told me you were in town!”

“I know, sorry. How about you come around this week – meet my friends, and I’ll fill you in on everything – are you free Thursday night?” She wanted to meet her oldest friend on a level playing field for both of them, and her favourite bar with her favourite people seemed like the right choice.

“Sure, whereabouts?” 

“The Dropship. Do you remember, we used to go with Jasper and Monty and Harper in college?”

“How could I forget?” The smile in Wells’ voice was unmistakeable, “Jasper made me give Monty a lap-dance once, during truth or dare.”

“Oh my god, I almost forgot about that!”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Will everyone else?”

“Of course – if you’re coming all the way over this end of town, you may as well get your money’s worth.” Clarke chided.

“I’ll get my money’s worth just as long as you’re there, Clarke.”

Bellamy handed her a mug and then collapsed next to her, bringing his own to his lips absentmindedly. He nudged her.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Can you do me the hugest favour?”

“This is why you called me isn’t it?” Wells didn’t sound offended, so she pressed forward.

“Partially,” she admitted, “do you think you could visit my mom’s house and get all the letters my dad sent from my old room? They’re in that box under my bed.”

Wells was hesitating.

“Wells, I’m fine.”

“Clarke, you know what happened the last time you read those letters.”

“Yeah, but it’s been five years, and I’m fine.” She brushed him off.

“Clarke, I’m serious, you have to promise me that if you go through these letters again, you’re going to have someone in the room with you.”

“Wells, I swear, it won’t happen again.”

“Put your boyfriend on the phone,” he said and she groaned.

“His name is Bellamy and he is not my boyfriend,” she snapped.

“I don’t care, put him on the phone,” her best friend sounded more stern than she’d heard in a long time, so she sighed and put the phone on speaker just as he quipped, “Also, his name sounds like some kind of Italian sauce.” 

“Hi,” Bellamy offered, amused, while Clarke cringed beside him.

“So, Clarke’s not-boyfriend, there’s something you need to do, if she’s going to read these letters.”

Bellamy looked over at her warily, and she shook her head infinitesimally. 

“Okay?”

“Make sure you’re in the room with her. She’s going to tell you that she’s fine, or that she needs some privacy to read them. That’s crap. You need to promise me that you’re going to stay for as long as it takes her to read those letters. Because if you don’t, I’m going to have to, and I live on the other side of town, so that’s going to be tedious for everyone involved,” Wells ordered.

Bellamy finished his coffee, “Okay, sure.”

“You seem like a decent guy, Digiorno,” Wells said, clearly teasing Clarke.

“I hate you,” she said, and she could hear Wells laughing. 

“No you don’t!”

* * *

When Thursday rolled around, she was in an excellent mood. Not only was she going to see her best friend, but everyone else was going to be there too – even Bryan. It was going to be a veritable party. 

She was wandering to the bar from Bellamy’s, and in fact had rarely used her car at all since moving in. He lived close enough to The Dropship and Jasper’s that she could just walk everywhere, although he tended to drive, probably because he usually ended up offering their drunks friends lifts home. 

Dusk was approaching, and the shadows at her feet were becoming longer, but she just sped up a little. She might be a little late, but her friends wouldn’t mind. 

She was almost floating, she was so excited, until her phone started buzzing aggressively in her pocket. 

Clarke looked down at her phone to see Finn’s name light up the screen. He hadn’t called her since the day they broke up, so she felt a little weird about him ringing her now. She cursed herself for not blocking his number and waited for it to ring off. 

When it did, she shoved it back in her jeans and tried to forget it, until it started up again.

She was irritated now, and she yanked it up to her ear, “What do you want, Finn?”

“I just want to talk to you, Princess,” Finn said, and when she turned the corner onto the final stretch, he was leaning against a wall, waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTION HEATS UP FROM HERE GUYS, HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS!  
> I mean, there's definitely a chapter of hardcore angst and Bellamy backstory in between, but there's action either side of it.  
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you're still enjoying it!  
> Come say hello to me on tumblr, I'm friendly, I swear.


	9. Wounded Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wells arrives just as Clarke has a confrontation with someone she'd hoped never to see again.  
> Bellamy gets overprotective.

### 

_He's a wounded animal_  
_He lives in a matchbox_  
_He's a wounded animal_  
_And he's been coming around here_  
  
**20 Years Of Snow - Regina Spektor**

Bellamy wasn’t sure what he expected Clarke’s best friend to look like; he had vague memories of knowing he was at Jaha’s trial, but like Clarke, Wells hadn’t really wanted to be there. Bellamy couldn’t recall having seen him, and he’d never looked him up, or paid any attention to the media coverage at the time. It hadn’t ever seemed fair to him that the Jaha’s were dragged into Thelonius’s mess, when they’d never known what he’d done until his arrest. 

Besides, it had been over five years and Wells had only attended for an hour on the first day and then never went back. 

Bellamy could understand why. 

He knew from experience that it was hard to reconcile yourself with the fact that your father is a monster. 

He wasn’t expecting Wells to be an articulate, kind-eyed man, dressed in shades of beige. 

He shuffled into the bar, sporting a satchel over one shoulder, and looking nostalgically around, until his eyes fell on the delinquents, who were situated in their usual spot.

“Oh my god, you kept the booth?” He asked incredulously, and his friends sprung up to greet him.

“Damn right we did!” Jasper grinned and clapped him on the back, “If it ain’t broke, right?”

“I dunno, I’m pretty sure you broke a lot of stuff here,” he replied.

Harper and Monty gave him tight hugs and he flopped down next to them.

“So, what’s been happening with you? You’ve been such a stranger the last couple of years. You only live at the other end of the city – it’s not Antarctica,” Harper pointed out. 

“Yeah, well… I’ve been giving Clarke space,” he said, looking guilty.

“That doesn’t mean you had to avoid us too, genius,” she responded, raising an eyebrow. 

“It kinda does. You three are a package deal, and you’ve always been there for Clarke. If you’d have kept hanging out with me when she was struggling, she would have felt abandoned. I know my best friend; she would have said she was fine, and she would have been lying.”

“Damn, that’s good reasoning. Psychology and philosophy were the right courses for you,” Monty said.

“Yeah, I’m glad I switched. Political science was never my idea anyway,” he agreed, and Jasper ducked out to grab some drinks from the bar. 

Raven and Emori arrived, and Emori immediately slunk up to Murphy, who was doing stocktake, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. She yanked him forward and they started aggressively making out in full view of the customers.

“Oh my god, Murphy, take it out the back,” Bellamy scolded, and it seemed they didn’t need to be told twice. They disappeared behind the staff door, and Miller looked queasy.

“I don’t think we should go out there for a while,” he said, and Bryan shook his head emphatically in agreement. 

Raven had struck up a conversation with Wells, and Jasper was trying to tell Bellamy a story from their college days while he made the drinks. He offered to help carry them over to the table, and Jasper grabbed his own and left Bellamy to carry the other five.

“I see you’ve met Raven, and you’ve glimpsed the enigmas that are Emori and Murphy,” Bellamy said to Wells, and held out his hand, “Bellamy. Nice to meet you.”

“Ah, so you’re Clarke’s boyfriend! Nice to meet you, Digiorno,” Wells grinned, and shook the outstretched limb enthusiastically. 

Their friends were looking between them, confused.

“Not her boyfriend,” he reminded him, and Wells only laughed.

“Ah well, there’s time.”

Bellamy snorted and returned to the bar, trying to get a head start on cleaning. He realised that Clarke was late, and he tried not to worry about it, but the only other time she’d been late for anything, he’d peeled her away from a bottle of whiskey. 

Murphy and Emori re-emerged and Murphy fixed his shirt and cleared his throat as he leaned on the bar. Emori joined the group at the booth and said something which made Well’s jaw drop and Raven roll her eyes. 

Murphy served Lexa and flirted with her ostentatiously, completely disregarding the murderous looks her brothers were shooting him. 

Cage Wallace drifted up, glancing around the room, “Blake. Where’s your mortal enemy?”

“You mean Clarke? Not here.”

Wallace looked disappointed, and Bellamy leaned forward, “do you want me to tell her that you’re interested, maybe give her your card?”

“No, that’s okay, I’d rather do it myself.”

“You might have to save yourself until next week then, Wallace,” he said, feeling a tiny prickle of irritation. He shouldn’t be annoyed that a man was interested in Clarke, but he felt protective. It had only been a few weeks since Finn, and he didn’t want her getting hurt. If all Cage was interested in was a one-night stand, he was sure Clarke would be open to it, but he was worried that Cage wanted more than that. 

“I might just do that,” Wallace said, and downed the last of his beer, dropping exact change on the counter before he left.

Closing time came and went, and there was still no sign of Clarke. 

Miller and Bryan had joined the group at the booth, pulling up a bunch of extra chairs ready for the other three. Murphy and Bellamy were still finishing at the bar, and even Murphy was starting to look a little hesitant, cutting limes slower and slower every time he checked the clock. 

Bellamy was about to ring her when she came bursting through the door. 

A look of relief washed over her when she saw him and Murphy at the bar, and she almost ran up to them. She was cradling her hand, wincing as she leaned against the counter. 

“Clarke, you okay?” Bellamy asked.

“No, my hand hurts. Merde! Can you get me some ice?” She swore in French as she shook out her fingers aggressively. 

He looked at her quizzically as he scooped some into a cloth and handed it to her. She shrugged, “I punched Finn in the face.”

“Join the club, Griffin!” Raven called out, and everyone laughed. 

As if on cue, Finn Collins came crashing in, a small cut on his cheek from where one of Clarke’s rings had broken the skin, and an old bruise on the other side of his face.

“Clarke, please, I’m sorry!”

“Get away from me, asshole,” Clarke snapped, pressing the ice to her knuckles, “or I will hit you again.”

Wells looked at her proudly, and Monty and Jasper wolf-whistled and self-fived. 

Bellamy was glaring over her shoulder at him, and Murphy looked equally as furious. He was dimly aware of Raven’s icy glare in Finn’s direction, and the rest of the delinquents’ complete attention, but he was trying not to overreact. For the moment.

“I suggest you listen to her, Finn,” he offered, “because I’ve been wanting to kick the shit out of you for weeks.”

Finn’s face contorted in disgust when he turned to look at Bellamy, “Really? I would never have guessed that your first instinct is to resort to violence.”

“That’s enough,” Clarke said, but Finn just continued glaring over her. 

“First day I met you, you were beating someone,” he sneered, “hell of a first impression, Bellamy.”

“I never hit anyone who doesn’t deserve it,” he shot back.

“Really? Cause I looked into you, Blake,” Finn’s tone sounded menacing, “You were in juvie, right? For assaulting someone.”

Murphy broke first. He leapt over the counter with the knife, still dripping lime juice, in his hand, “How dare–”

Bellamy jumped over the counter and moved in front of Finn, trying to stop Murphy from committing murder. Finn’s self-righteous smile faltered a little, unsure, now that the guy he’d been insulting had put himself between him and danger. 

“Murphy, don’t,” Bellamy warned. 

“Are you kidding me, Blake? This guy is accusing you of shit, with no idea what he’s talking about. He upset Clarke, he cheated on Raven, and he’s fucking annoying, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stab him in the throat,” Murphy hissed, trying to shove past him. 

“Because,” Bellamy sighed, “Clarke already hit him. He’s just trying to get a rise out of us. It’s not our fight, and you _know_ that.”

“You’re too good of a person, you know that?” Murphy barked, “It’s nauseating.”

Even as he complained, he backed up a step, still not turning around, and Bellamy moved to follow him.

“You nearly killed that guy you were in juvie for,” Finn commented from behind him, and he froze. 

“I am aware,” he said through gritted teeth, looking up at Clarke, who was staring at him with an odd expression on her face. 

“You nearly killed a guy. Seventeen, and you nearly murdered a man. And you think you’re any better than me?” Finn asked. 

Bellamy was breathing hard, his hands involuntarily making fists by his side. 

“I’ll kill you,” Murphy snarled, stepping back towards him, but Bellamy held a hand up and he paused, waiting for a sign that he could move.

Finn ignored him, still laying into Bellamy, “I bet you killed people in combat too. I bet you got off on it.”

“Leave him alone, Finn,” Clarke ordered, rage in her eyes.

He rounded on her next, “Why, Clarke? You left me and immediately shacked up with him, and _I’m_ the unfaithful one? I was in love with you, I wanted to make it work, and the second we broke up you jumped into his bed–”

Bellamy snapped. 

Murphy leapt forward again, but Bellamy got there first. 

He moved without thinking. He spun around, and when his fist made contact with Finn’s nose, he knew he’d broken it. 

Finn dropped to his knees, clutching his face while blood gushed down his chin, “Jesus.”

Bellamy took a big step back, trying as hard as he could not to hit him again, but there was red in his vision and it was clouding his judgement. Miller had almost sprinted from the booth to come and stand between him and Finn. Miller put a hand on his chest, and he managed to tear his eyes from the sight of Finn on the floor. 

“Bellamy? _Bellamy_ , you good?” Miller was asking him, and he nodded, the blood pounding in his ears, making it hard to hear.

He glanced over at the booth and saw Jasper, Monty, Wells and Harper staring at him in shock, while Emori just looked fascinated. Raven was smiling, but she looked like she was trying not to, and Bryan was wincing and covering his eyes.

Murphy was cackling wildly next to him, but he didn’t want to turn and look at Clarke. He didn’t want to feel her disappointment in him, or see the fear in her eyes now that she knew what it took to make him snap. 

He stayed stock still, shaking with white-hot rage, and trying to listen to Miller’s calming words.

Finn pushed himself back up onto his feet and grabbed a stack of napkins off the nearest table, “You’re a fucking monster!”

“And you’re banned from the premises,” Miller said, “if you ever stick your head in here again, I’m not going to stop these two from ripping you limb from limb.”

“You’re all fucking psychos,” Finn glared, pressing the whole stack up to his nose. 

“If you don’t leave soon, I’m gonna let Murphy have a go,” Miller bit back, “and he’s the one holding a knife.”

Finn took one look around the bar and realised that the only people in there were friends with Clarke and Raven. No-one was going to jump to his aid here.

He almost sprinted from the bar, dripping blood across the floor as he disappeared into the night. 

Miller released Bellamy and grabbed Murphy’s elbow, yanking him over to the table so he didn’t sprint after Finn. 

Bellamy closed his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. 

He shouldn’t have done that. 

He should have just let Finn talk, he shouldn’t have reacted.

Someone grabbed his hand gently, lifting it up, and he knew that Clarke was examining it for bruises. He tried to pull away, but she grabbed his elbow to keep him there.

“Hold still,” she said, and he swallowed, opening his eyes.

She was staring down at his hand, running her fingers across his knuckles to check for any damage, and she was worrying her bottom lip. She put the ice she’d been using on her own fingers over his, and tried to look at him, but he refused to meet her eyes.

“You’ll live,” she said, not letting go of him.

“Will I?” He knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t help it.

She looked at him for a long moment, and he was sure she was going to leave, but she did the opposite and hugged him tightly around the waist. Clarke buried her face in his chest and he awkwardly put his arms around her, gripping her ponytail with his uninjured hand. 

He hadn’t hugged her, not really, not since that night he’d picked her up after she found out about Finn. 

They’d never really been those kind of friends, and yet here she was, arms pulled taut around him, and he found it was a surprisingly comfortable place to be. He tucked his nose into her hair and tried not to commit the smell of her to memory – they weren’t like that, and he couldn’t kid himself into thinking they ever would be. 

“Thank you,” she was muffled by his shirt, but he heard her.

“What are you thanking me for?” He asked, incredulous, “I let him get to me.”

She pulled back and he finally allowed himself to look her in the eyes. They were brimming with tears, but she didn’t look upset, in fact she was staring at him with a look he’d never seen on her before and he didn’t know what to make of it. 

“No, _I_ let him get to me,” she said, “he kept just saying he loved me and he wanted to make it work, and I hit him. You didn’t hit him even when he was bringing up things you would clearly rather forget.”

He slumped slightly, and she tried to catch his eye again.

“Bellamy, I’m serious.”

“So am I. He was right, you know. About me being in juvie, and about my temper. Everything he said was true… I am a monster,” he said, and he knew he sounded pathetic, but Clarke wasn’t looking at him like that. She was looking at him with anguish, like she couldn’t bear that he thought of himself that way.

“No-one will believe you if you tell anyone I said this,” Clarke said, trying to smile, “but _I need you, Bellamy_. We all do. Murphy needs you to reign him in, Miller needs you to keep him sane, and Harper and Monty need you because you always make them feel better, even on their worst days. Raven needed you to get over Finn, Jasper needs you because you’re the only person willing to let him do whatever the hell he wants, your sister owes you so much, and I… I don’t know what I would have done without you these last two months. You’re not a monster, Bellamy, you’re just flawed – we all are. Don’t ever apologise for who you are.”

He swallowed, staring at her, and she returned his gaze defiantly, daring him to contradict her. 

“You would have managed fine without me, Clarke,” he said quietly.

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t have been able to witness you break Finn’s nose, and that was the highlight of my year.” She squeezed his hands, smiling.

“Why? I shouldn’t have reacted like that. He was trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Wow, you really didn’t notice what you did?” She asked, her eyes wide. 

He shook his head and she laughed and started dragging him over to their friends, who were all holding their drinks up to him in cheers, including Wells.

“Then I’m not going to tell you,” Clarke whispered, and he was left to puzzle over it for the rest of the night.

* * *

They decided, once 2 am rolled around, that it probably wasn’t the best idea to keep drinking, considering that Friday was a work day for most of them. Bellamy was sober, so he offered to drive people home. Emori and Murphy waved him off, already halfway into an Uber, and Monty, Harper and Jasper loudly proclaimed that they were getting a lift home with Bryan, who looked whatever the total opposite of ecstatic was. Miller lived in the apartment above the bar, so he waved them all goodbye as he trudged out the back and up the stairs.

That just left Raven, Clarke and Wells in Bellamy’s car. He offered to drive him all the way home, but Wells insisted that it would be too far, and he could just rent a hotel room. Bellamy scoffed and told him that he wasn’t going to let him pay when he had a perfectly good couch, so that was how Wells ended up staying in his apartment that night. 

They took the elevator up, said goodbye to Raven on her floor, and when it arrived at theirs, Bellamy started feeling a little squirrelly. He knew Clarke was from wealth, but he also knew she loved his apartment. He wasn’t as excited about Wells’s opinion. 

“Is this where you’re living, Clarke?” Wells tone wasn’t exactly judgemental, but he did sound concerned as they crossed the threshold.

“Yep,” she replied coolly, almost as sober as Bellamy, “it’s better than anywhere I’ve lived in years. I’ve stayed in squats and college dorms and Mom’s _ridiculous_ mansion, and I can honestly say that this is my favourite place.”

Bellamy was touched, but he figured that it had more to do with how much she’d disliked the other places than his being particularly great. 

“Cool. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” Wells said drunkenly, swaying a little, and Clarke giggled. 

“I’m mostly happy, Wells,” she said.

“I guess that’s the best we can hope for, given the circumventses,” he said, and Clarke chuckled again.

“Circumstances?” She corrected, while Bellamy set about putting blankets and pillows on the couch.

“Yeah that’s what I said,” he retorted, pulling her in for a bear hug, “I missed you Clarke. I wish we could go back to just being friends again. I wish we could pretend that my dad wasn’t evil, and your dad was still here.”

“Me too, Wells. Me too,” she murmured, squeezing him back. 

“Wells can take my room, I’ll have the couch,” Bellamy said, belly-flopping onto the sofa. 

“No, Bell, I’ll take the couch, he can stay in my room.”

“Why don’t you two just sleep in the same bed, like normal couples?” Wells asked cheekily.

Clarke rolled her eyes, and Bellamy followed suit, grumbling, “We’re not a couple, Wells.”

“Are you sure, cause you bicker like one. AND Bellamy defended your honour,” Wells giggled, and Bellamy finally realised what Clarke had meant - he'd only punched Finn when he had gone after _her_ \- and he blushed, hoping his friends couldn't see it. Wells was completely oblivious, still giggling, “he’s like your knight in shining armour.”

“Yeah, well, Princesses don’t date knights,” Bellamy pointed out.

“Wait, really?” Clarke asked, interested. 

“Yeah. In medieval times, Princesses had to marry other people of royal blood, and knights were not generally royals. In fact, the term ‘princess’ wasn’t really even in use until the 18th century.” He explained.

“What about Lancelot and Guinevere?” Wells asked triumphantly.

“That was a myth,” Bellamy said, “and she never married him.”

“Yeah, but did they _bone_?” Wells asked, and Bellamy laughed, deep and low in his chest, which set Clarke off, and then all three of them were in peals of laughter in the small flat.

* * *

* * *

* * *

None of them noticed that a car had followed them home. None of them heard the phone call that took place in the street below, as a figure shrouded in darkness reported to their boss.

“No, it’s worse. We need to make a move soon. All _three_ of them are in Blake’s apartment – Blake, Griffin and Jaha. If they talk about the incident, they could work everything out, and then we’re screwed.”

The figure paused a moment, tapping the steering wheel while the person on the other end of the line said something, and then sighed, “Miller and Murphy don’t know as much as Blake, they’re hardly likely to be a threat.”

The figure paused again, leaning out of the car to look up at the sixth floor where Bellamy’s apartment was.

“I think it’s time we move on the Griffin girl. She’s the loose cannon here: Blake and Jaha are predictable.”

The figure edged back into the shadows. 

“I’m not going to do it!” The figure wound the window up, “If I do, my cover’s blown."

The voice at the other end said something and the figure sighed, " _Fine, I'll do it_. But we need a distraction. It’s time to bring in our loose cannon.”

The figure started the car and started slowly driving away, the headlights still off.

“It’s time to call in Dax.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, violence, it solves every problem, at least according to Murphy.  
> And it definitely solved that one!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you so much for your comments and kudos, it's impossible to put into words how much I appreciate it.


	10. You Versus Everyone Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's tragic backstory is revealed, and Clarke finally looks to the past and confronts her grief.

### 

_You can't help but stare at everyone there_  
_It's you versus everyone else_  
_Your outfit's a crime, you feel their cold minds_  
_Placing you under arrest_  
_And you serve your time drinking all night long_  
_Staring at the walls of your jail-like home_  
_Listening to that song, cause it hurts just right_  
_Till everything is gone tonight_  
  
_Never never mind bleeding heart, bleeding heart_  
_Never never mind your bleeding heart_  
  
**Bleeding Heart - Regina Spektor**

Bellamy was making breakfast when Wells woke up and emerged from his room.

“You’re, like, super into history, huh?” Wells asked, looking over his non-fiction bookshelf. He grabbed a massive volume on Pompeii and started flicking through it as he wandered up to the kitchen table, sitting at the head of it. 

“Yeah, I wanted to be a historian, or an archaeologist, or a teacher,” Bellamy said, frying the bacon, “but unfortunately, people like me don’t get jobs like that.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Wells asked, and he wasn’t sure if it was some kind of test or if he was genuinely curious. 

“Uh, I didn’t go to college. I was going to, right after high school, but circumstances got in the way, and I had to stay home a couple of years. Then, when my sister graduated and wanted to go, I joined the army so she had the opportunities I didn’t.”

“What sort of circumstances?” Wells sounded far too casual.

“You can just ask me about it.” He snapped, starting on the omelettes. 

Wells put the book down and looked him in the face, “What did you do to that guy? How did you land in juvenile detention?”

“He was my step-father: Octavia’s dad. He used to hit my mother.” Bellamy said, flipping the omelettes, “He’d get drunk, and then he’d get angry, and he’d hit her. I used to try and get in the way, try and take the brunt of it, but my mother told me not to. She told me that mothers are supposed to protect their children, not let them protect her. Then, Octavia was born, and he calmed down for a little while.”

Clarke emerged from her room and saw the expressions on her friends’ faces, but she didn’t say anything. She must have heard them through the door and decided to make her presence known. She was a good person like that; she’d rather announce her presence than be caught eavesdropping. She walked over and patted Wells on the shoulder, then brushed past him into the kitchen.

Bellamy glanced at her, afraid she would interrupt, but she just started chopping tomatoes next to him, and he was grateful that he wouldn’t have to tell the story twice. He hadn't told it in a long time, and he hadn't gone into anywhere as much details with the delinquents - just enough to tell them he wasn't a bad person at heart - but with these two, he felt he had to tell them the whole story. 

“Then, when Octavia was old enough to talk, she started talking back.”

Clarke snorted and noted sarcastically, “That’s not like Octavia at all.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, but it was tinged with regret, “and he started to notice her more. He started hitting my mom again, blaming her for how his daughter was acting, not paying any attention to the example that he was setting. I was twelve, and I was so scared that once my mother wasn’t an interesting enough target, he would start on Octavia. So I started hiding her.”

He added the omelette to the plates and started cooking sausages.

“Whenever he came home, drunk out of his mind and ready for a fight, I would make sure Octavia was at a friend’s house, or I’d take her for a walk. A few times, I’d hide her under the bed, or in the basement, so she wasn’t anywhere near him. That worked, for a few years.”

“That’s awful,” Wells said.

He shrugged, “When she got older, O was in every society at school, so she didn’t spend that much time at home for a while. Then, when I was fifteen… O was nine, and I just wasn’t paying attention. He came home, drunk, and I wasn’t paying attention. He found Octavia in her room and started hitting her.”

He swallowed. This was a hard story to tell, and he hadn’t told it for years. 

“She was screaming and my mom was screaming and trying to pull him off, but he shoved her and she fell down the stairs. I came running up, and I jumped in his way. Octavia ran downstairs to help Mom, and I let him beat me until I couldn’t move.”

“Oh god, _Bellamy_ ,” Clarke whispered, but he continued.

“So, from then on, every night when he came home, I’d get in his way. My mom broke her legs and her wrist falling, so she was stuck at home for a while. I started skipping school to make sure that she was never alone with him. I’m sure he broke some of _my_ bones too, but I never went to the hospital. I was scared that if I left for too long, he’d corner my mother, or O.”

He finished the sausages and laid them next to the omelettes, collecting bottles of sauce from the cupboard and putting them on the table. 

“That worked, for a while. Then, when I was seventeen and Octavia was eleven, she brought a friend home, just a friend, but a friend who was a boy. She’d never done that before, but I think she was testing it out, seeing what she could get away with. And the second her friend went home, my step-father tried to punish her for it. He was angrier than I’d seen him in a long time, and when I got in the way, he tried to shove me aside. He was furious. And I was so scared. I was terrified that he was hurting my sister and I couldn’t stop him. If anything happened to her in that house, it would have been _my fault_ , for not protecting her.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Wells started.

“My sister, my responsibility,” Bellamy responded, taking the salad vegetables Clarke had been cutting and scraping them onto the plates.

“Bellamy–” Clarke tried, but he shook his head.

“ _My sister, my responsibility_ ,” he repeated, “so I did the only thing I could think of in the moment. I grabbed the nearest thing and hit him with it. It was a chair. He was distracted enough to turn on me, and when he did, I grabbed his head and slammed it into the corner of the desk. He started… god, there was so much blood. He started bleeding onto the carpet, and I grabbed Octavia and drove her to Miller’s house.”

He put the plates down in front of his friends and sat down beside Clarke. 

“When I got back to my house, there were cops there,” he poked his food with his fork, “I was taken to juvie, and he was in hospital for weeks recovering. When he got back, my mom was stuck in the house with him, and it didn’t matter how many times she called and I told her to get out of there, she stayed. I always thought she was just too scared to leave, but I realised later than she stayed to protect Octavia. As long as Mom was holding his attention, he wasn’t going after his daughter.”

He started gripping his fork more aggressively, “I was in juvie for a year – I was barely seventeen when it happened, and I got out the week after my 18th. The only reason I wasn’t tried as an adult was because it was clear he was abusive – we all had bruises. That was enough for the police to let Octavia stay at the Millers’ indefinitely, which made him angrier. He started taking it out on my mother, and she used to call me in tears, telling me that she knew she was going to die, and she wanted me to swear that I would protect Octavia.”

Clarke and Wells weren’t eating either, they were just staring at him.

“On the day I was released, the Millers and Octavia met me and I went home with them. O told me that she hadn’t seen Mom in a few weeks, but that she’d called, and she was home that night if I wanted to talk to her. I rang her, and when she answered, she sounded… she sounded awful. She told me not to come around, but that she loved me, and she was proud of me. I heard him come home in the background and I knew she was in trouble, so I dropped everything and ran.”

Clarke reached over and gripped his hand and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“By the time I got there, she was already dead. Just lying there, on the kitchen floor. And he was standing over her and he was _crying_." Bellamy's voice dripped with disgust, "and I was so… I was so angry. Because _how dare_ he cry after he _murdered_ my mother. How dare he cry after torturing us, for years. I decided… I decided right then and there that I was gonna kill him.”

He'd never said that out loud before. He’d barely managed to admit it to himself, but here he was, the gates had opened and he couldn’t stop himself from telling them everything: everything he’d kept bottled up for years.

“I decided it didn’t matter that I was 18. It didn’t matter that Octavia would have to visit me in jail, because he deserved it, and he had to die. And just as I made that decision, police stormed the house and arrested him.”

He exhaled shakily.

“Miller’s dad had called it in the second he’d seen me take off running. So, I didn’t kill anyone. But I almost did. Twice. I adopted Octavia, and I worked shitty jobs until she was in her last year of high school, and then I joined the army, just before my 23rd birthday. I put away every cent I got to send her to college, and I was going to serve six years…”

“Until my dad died,” Clarke said for him, and he nodded, opening his eyes. But he couldn’t look at her, or Wells. He just stared down at the wooden table, memorising the knots. 

“When Jake died, I decided I couldn’t stay in the military anymore. So I left after three years instead. Miller and Murphy did the same, and when Miller took over his dad’s business so his dad could retire, he offered me a job. I’ve been working at The Dropship for four years and I’ve never once regretted it. It doesn't bother me that I'm almost 30 and I don't have any qualifications - all that matters is that Octavia moves up in the world, that she makes a better life for herself. So...Octavia finished college and moved to Polis. I miss her, but I can’t really blame her – there’s too many memories here.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Wells asked.

“Because my family’s here. Miller and Murphy were there for me when no-one else was. I met Murphy in juvie – he’d been done for throwing rocks through the window of a cancer clinic and beating the shit out of one of the guys that worked there. Turns out the guy had deliberately misdiagnosed Murphy’s father to sell him a particular kind of medicine, and John had to watch his father die slowly and in pain just because he didn’t get the treatment he needed. We became pretty close, and when I said I was joining the military, he said he’d follow me anywhere, as long as violence was involved.”

“That sounds like Murphy,” Clarke said. 

“Yeah, he’s angrier than I am. My problem went to jail for murder, his problem was that the hospitals screwed his dad, and he can’t do anything about it. And once he’d thrown rocks through windows, suing them was kind of out of the question, so he had to settle for just not being in prison.”

“Remind me to buy Murphy a drink,” Clarke said, “Oh, two drinks – because of what he did at Jaha’s trial.”

She winced and looked over at Wells, but her friend was still staring at Bellamy, eyes wide. Bellamy refused to look at either of them, but he finally started eating breakfast, and they followed suit. 

They sat in silence for a little while, eating slowly. 

“You deserved better,” Wells said determinedly. 

Bellamy looked up at him. Wells was leaning back in his chair, but he looked the opposite of relaxed. His arms were crossed sternly in front of his chest, and a frown was contorting his features. 

“Sure,” Bellamy said, “But I’m not going back in time to fix it anytime soon.”

“No, I mean… he wasn’t even your dad, and he made your life miserable.” There was pain behind Wells’ statement, and Bellamy wondered how much of it came from his shame of his own father. 

“I never met my father, so he was all I had. Or at least, that’s what I told myself until the day he hit Octavia. Then he was just the monster that lived in my house.”

“God, sitting at this table makes my parental issues look like a breeze,” Clarke tore into some bacon as she spoke, her hand still in Bellamy’s.

He let go of her and her hand chased his until he stood up, walking over to the bookshelf. He pulled a photo album from between his Greek mythology collection and his copy of The Iliad and returned to the table. He opened it to a specific picture and put it in front of Clarke. 

“Oh.” She said softly. 

The photo on the left was of all the soldiers in the area that he’d been in on his second tour. Three units, all standing together, stiff as boards and staring straight ahead. Not one of them looked content. 

The one on the right was more relaxed; there were eleven people, dressed more loosely, though still in uniform, and Clarke was staring at that one. She knew immediately that the picture featured all the soldiers that Bellamy had considered friends. 

Bellamy was sitting on the end, laughing at something, a pretty brunette on his lap. Murphy was on his left, tilting his head towards the row of people behind them, his hair cropped and his body language looser than it had been in a long time. 

On Murphy’s other side was a fierce, attractive woman, looking like she was trying not to smile, her arm around a huge guy with hair that was definitely too long for the military swinging about his shoulders. Miller was standing behind them, and there was a skinny guy resting against him, almost kissing his cheek. 

Miller was grinning across at three older people standing to his right – Jake Griffin, Thelonius Jaha, and a woman Clarke remembered as Indra, although she couldn’t recall her last name. A young blonde guy was leaning on Bellamy’s shoulder, nudging Indra with his other arm, and all of them looked happy, despite being in a war zone. 

“I thought you might want to see what your dad’s friends looked like.” Bellamy said, worried he’d made the wrong decision. 

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and he leaned over her, placing his finger to the paper.

“That’s me. That was my fiancé, Gina,” he said, and Clarke’s head shot back up again. He smiled sadly, “When we were pinned down, she was hit. I saw her go down, and before I had time to go back for her, they cut us off. She died while we were stuck barely thirty feet away.”

“Bellamy, _I’m so sorry_.” She leaned into him, her arms trapped by his own weight over her, and he managed a small smile at her effort.

“It’s been five years. I’m fine.”

“No, Miller told me that you were unhappy for a reason, I should have listened.”

“Miller’s just worried about me, like always. Ignore him.”

“I slut-shamed you.”

He laughed, “Yeah, you did. But to be fair, I’m a bit of a slut. I was before Gina, and I guess I just regressed after she died.”

She smiled and returned her attention back to the photo. He slid his finger right.

“You already know Murphy, and sitting next to him is Echo, who is insane even by Murphy standards, and Roan, who just wants to have sex with anyone and everyone, regardless of gender. They both made it out okay. They’re from Azgeda, so we don’t see them around much, maybe once a year or so. Behind him is Miller, and that was Miller’s boyfriend, Eric Jackson. He was the unit medic. He died too, but months before all the stuff with Jake happened. Miller was talking about leaving the army from the second Jackson died, I think Jake’s murder just clinched it for him.”

“That’s awful!”

“Yeah. They’d only been together for a little while, but they were really in love. I think it took Miller by surprise, he wasn't expecting to fall in love at all, but especially not in the army. That’s why Murphy and I are so protective, like that day you came in and I was beating up those frat douchebags. He hasn’t had a lot of relationships since Jackson, and Bryan is serious, so we wanted him to know we would never let anything happen to him.”

“Wow, does everything you do have some kind of saint-like reasoning? Because from what I’ve found out about you just in the last two hours, _I_ want to date you. How does Clarke not climb you like a tree?” Wells asked, incredulous. 

“I resist the urge,” Clarke commented, kicking Wells under the table.

“Next to Jackson…” Bellamy slid his finger to the left and trailed off.

“Is my dad,” she whispered, and he rested his chin atop her head. 

“And my dad,” Wells sounded less awestruck and more resentful, and no-one could blame him. 

“And Indra,” continued Bellamy, “Who is one of the most badass women I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I practically _begged_ her to give Octavia self-defence lessons, and now, unfortunately, she likes her better than me. She lives somewhere up north – maybe Tondisi – I haven’t spoken to her in a while, but she checks in with O, constantly.”

He slid his finger down, landing on the last person, “and that’s Riley. He was a good kid, fresh out of high school and into the army. He was taken out while we were pinned down as well.”

“So, out of the eleven people in that photo, four are dead, and my dad is at fault for at least three of them,” Wells scowled.

“Sorry, Wells, I was trying to do a nice thing for Clarke, I probably should have thought about how hard it would be for you. In all honesty, I forgot Jaha was in the picture.” Bellamy winced.

“You’re a great guy, Bellamy,” Wells sighed, “I can’t fault you for bringing out that photo – I didn’t know you knew Jake as well?”

“We were both at the trial, on the first day, but you didn’t stay, and I was sitting in the back, trying not to draw attention to myself, so I don’t think we even looked at each other.” Bellamy explained, and Wells nodded.

“I had to get out of there. I knew it wasn’t my fault, but all the families of all the soldiers who died because of my dad were sitting in those stalls, and I couldn’t even look at them. My mother tried to stay for the whole trial, until she got sick. She looked every one of those people in the eye and she apologised. She stayed composed until the day she died, and I couldn’t even look them in the eyes. I felt terrible, and then I felt guilty for feeling terrible because I knew all of them were feeling worse. So I ducked out.”

“Congrats on the empathy, bestie!” Clarke said, offering Wells a high-five.

He returned it reluctantly, giving her a stern look, and she shrugged. 

“I didn’t even go.” She pointed out. 

“That’s different – your dad died, you were mourning.” Wells brushed it off.

“You weren’t? He loved you like a son, you know that?” Clarke said earnestly, looking at him with something sad in her eyes, all joking gone. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, “and he loved you more than anything in the world.”

“That’s true,” Bellamy agreed, “I remember he was talking one night, to Miller and me, and he was telling us about his daughter, and how he was so proud of her. He was telling us that he couldn’t wait to get back to her. He showed us some of your drawings, too. Huh, that’s weird, I should have realised sooner that all those drawings were yours – I guess I never thought about it. He told us stories about your childhood, and told us he was writing you a letter. It was sweet.”

“Wow. Really?” The tears had returned to Clarke’s lashes and he cleared his throat and stood up straighter, removing his weight.

“Yeah. Now, speaking of letters, I’m pretty sure Wells brought them all.” He said, clearing the plates from the table. He tried not to think about how much he’d wanted to hug Clarke in that moment. How he’d felt with those despondent galaxies that she had in place of eyes staring up at him. How much he’d wanted to scoop her up and hold her close and never let go. 

He couldn’t think about that. 

* * *

* * *

Clarke was anxious. Of course, being anxious was nothing new; she’d been a mess every day since her dad died. But this time, it had a source, it wasn’t just a vague approximation of all her fears.

She was sitting on the floor of Bellamy’s living room, with piles of letters laid out in front of her, all of them stacked up just high enough before they’d topple over. 

Bellamy and Wells were sharing the couch behind her, and they were silently drinking coffee side by side, waiting for her to make the first move. 

Wells had brought them already arranged in order of correspondence, so she didn’t have to go rummaging through them, she just had to pick up the one she needed. The earlier letters weren’t important for what she wanted – she was specifically looking for the ones starting at the beginning of his final tour of duty. 

The last stack was the smallest – only six envelopes – and it was the one she was eyeing up. 

She reached for it, involuntarily holding her breath. 

She’d only read the first letter in that pile. 

Every other message had arrived after her father’s death and she’d just never been able to bring herself to read them. That was probably why she’d left them behind when she moved – so she stopped feeling the weight of them in her room, unread and looming over her.

Her fingers trembled, but eventually, she managed to grip the envelope between them and slide the letter out. The very first letter he’d sent her from that tour.

> _Hey Clarke,_
> 
> _I know it’s hard, me being away so often, but this is the last one, I swear. No matter what your mother says, this is the last one._
> 
> _It’s hot here, it seems like the whole country is just desert. I don’t know, maybe it is. We’re not exactly dropped into the tourist spots, so I’m not sure what exactly the nicer areas of this country are._
> 
> _The villagers are nice, accommodating, and they don’t seem too bothered having a bunch of soldiers living in their village. I don’t mind either, to be honest – some of the guys this time around are actually pretty great._
> 
> _It’s been a week of helping villagers set up defences and perimeters, and I’ve been with a different person each day. We’re all separate units, but around here, everyone just steps up and does the job at hand. Indra and Thelonius are here, so luckily I already have some friends, but some of the people in the third unit are pretty interesting. There’s a gangly guy who looks like he’s ready for a fight at all times, but then he listens to everything that one of the other guys says, no matter what. The other guy is bigger, not in a menacing way; he’s got kind of a gruff, cuddly exterior, but when he wants to be stern, he is, and the gangly guy listens. I’ll learn their names at some point, and then you can have some context._
> 
> _For now, I’m just gonna call them Hothead and Brother Bear. Do you remember that movie? I don’t know, maybe it’s just the nostalgic father in me._
> 
> _How’s college going, sweetie? Med school probably seems really daunting right now, but I promise it’ll be worth it._
> 
> _You’re doing something amazing, Clarke. And if you become a doctor and you decide after a year or two years or a decade, that you want to do something else, I’ll support you. I support you no matter what._
> 
> _The other two units here don’t seem to be anywhere near as tightly wound as mine. Have I mentioned I like the third unit here a lot? There’s a medic called… Michael Jackson? That can’t be right… anyway, I think he would get on well with your mother, although you shouldn’t quote me on that._
> 
> _Brother Bear seems to be engaged to this woman called Gina – she’s excellent. I think you’d really like her. It’s almost scary, Clarke: this guy has to be about the same age as you, maybe a year or two older, and he’s engaged. You could be engaged, for all I know._
> 
> _You’ve gotta promise me that you won’t be engaged by the time I get back._  
>  _I don’t think my heart could take the shock._  
>  _Your mother would certainly have a field day._
> 
> _But I think these kids are making the right decision – they seem really in love, really happy. Gina’s such an interesting person, she was on shift with me today and kept telling me all these stories about her family and the charity work they do. But it wasn’t bragging or anything like that, she just really loves helping other people, and listening to her talk about it made me want to do more of that and less of this._
> 
> _Maybe when I get back I’ll join a charity. That’s a thought – what am I qualified for, once I leave the army? I guess I’ll have to find out. Maybe I'll finally finish my medical degree, go bother your mother at work..._
> 
> _I know I said I’m having fun here, but that doesn’t really include my unit, just the other two._
> 
> _There is something going on here that isn’t quite right. We’re a peace-keeping force, but there seems to be a certain amount of aggression in my unit. It’s odd. I heard some of them talking about money today, and a lot of them sounded richer than the army would usually make a person. I don’t know, does talking about having money in the Cayman Islands automatically make you suspicious, or do I just watch too many crime shows?_
> 
> _And Thelonius keeps ducking out to make phone calls, but on his caller ID, it just says Sydney Office. Why would he be calling Australia? Actually, what I mean is, why is he calling Australia and not telling me? I thought we were supposed to tell each other these things. I don’t know, maybe he’s surprising me with a trip and he’s calling a travel agent? Wishful thinking, I suppose._
> 
> _I’ve got to wrap this letter up sometime, so I’m gonna do it now. I love you, sweetheart. Always will. Tell Wells that I still hold the record for Ping Pong, and he should be training vigorously for my return._
> 
> _I eagerly await your sketches, I know they’ll be incredible. If being a high-flying doctor doesn’t work out, you should open a gallery somewhere, or sell your art to the highest bidder._
> 
> _Love you until the end of the world,_
> 
> _Dad_

Clarke didn’t notice she was crying until she felt warm arms wrap around her waist. Bellamy sat down next to her, holding her as she sobbed uncontrollably, and Wells took the other side, curling his arm around her shoulders and leaning against her. 

She had thought she was coping with it all, but rereading that letter, reading how sure he was that he would see her again, was almost impossible. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the other five. 

“It’s okay, Clarke, shh, it’s okay,” Bellamy was murmuring in her ear, and she drew her knees up and tucked her face into them, trying to block the rest of the universe out. She thought they’d pull away, but they just continued sitting with her, and Bellamy’s hand never moved from her waist, even when she was sandwiching it between her stomach and her thighs. 

“He wrote about you,” Clarke sniffled, “he didn’t know your name yet, but it’s definitely you. He liked you even before he knew your name.”

“He’d be the first,” Bellamy wisecracked, and she reached blindly out for his other hand. When he gripped it tightly, she felt for a moment that everything would be okay.

She took a breath and crossed her legs, sitting up. Wells was already holding the second letter, ready for her to read, and she brushed the tears from her face with her free hand.

Maybe one day, everything would be okay, but it wasn’t today. Today she had to read through all the things she’d been avoiding for the past five years, in the probably futile hope that it would stop the itching at the back of her mind telling her something wasn’t right. 

She opened the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, that was rough.
> 
> It was emotionally draining to write, but I think it's more than necessary to understand why Bellamy is the way he is.  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter despite it's distressing subject matter, and as always, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read this, and thank you for the comments and kudos. You are SO appreciated.
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to go and cry-watch some old movies now.


	11. Feel The Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke takes a break from reading her father's letters to calm down at The Dropship, which doesn't go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but it's dramatic, and don't worry, I'm updating soon, I swear!

### 

_But there are none who live downtown_  
_And so the day starts out so slow_  
_Again the sun was never called_  
_And darkness spreads over the snow_  
_Like ancient bruises_  
_I'm awake and feel the ache_  
_But I wish I'd see a field below_  
_I wish I'd see a field below_  
_I wish I'd see your face below_  
_I wish I'd hear you whispering low_  
  
**Field Below - Regina Spektor**

The first letter had been hard, but the second letter felt like a dagger sitting just below her throat, cutting off her air. 

He talked about making friends, and he asked her about med school and her college friends, and her mother. He told her that he was planning on ringing her that night, and she remembered the day he was talking about and spiralled again.

He mentioned the unrest in the camp, and talked about the Cayman Islands again, and that triggered something. She looked blearily over at Bellamy, gripping his hand a little tighter to gain his attention.

“Twice. He’s talked about the Cayman’s twice, but didn’t you say they were talking about putting money in Australia?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bellamy scrunched his nose, trying to remember, “Shumway said something about the money going to Sydney, and that Jaha was in his way, or something.”

Clarke nodded and tried to work out why that sounded so odd. She realised that it must have something to do with Jaha's call to that office - wherever the money was going had something to do with Jaha's calls - which meant that Jaha had been in on it all from the beginning. He hadn't just been swept up in it, or backed into a corner, he'd been organising it from the start. She felt her rage at her father's killer grow, but it didn't help her concentrate, so she took a deep breath and tried to finish the letter. She clutched it, willing her eyes to keep moving along the lines, but it was so difficult, and she kept having to stop because the tears blurred her vision. 

Wells’ arm and Bellamy’s presence at her sides helped, but nothing could soften the blow of reading the last words she would ever get from her father. 

Five letters left to read – if she never read them, she could pretend that he was still alive. She could pretend that he never said any last words, never wrote the last letter of his that she’d ever read. But now she was confronting all five at once, and it was overwhelming, to say the least. 

She managed to get through the second one, in which he added Blondie (that was Riley), Michael Jackson’s Boyfriend (Miller) and Aquaman (Roan) to the list of people he was becoming friends with. 

His third letter finally had some actual names.

> _Hi Clarke,_  
>  _It feels like the last couple of weeks have taken years. I’m almost at the quarter-way point of my deployment, and I think once I get over that hump it’ll get easier. Then of course it’s only the halfway point, and the two-thirds point, and the three-quarter point. But I digress._  
>  _Turns out Brother Bear’s name is Bellamy Blake – so apparently I’m an alliterative psychic – and he’s excellent. He’s a grumpy, over-protective older brother (so I got the brother part right too!) and he seems perfectly content in the dirt, taking care of him and his. I think you’d hate him. I don’t think he’d like you much either._  
>  _I’m gonna introduce you when I get back._  
> 

  
Clarke had laughed, despite the fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, and shown it to Bellamy, who howled with laughter. He pressed his face against her neck to try and stifle it, and she swallowed, trying not to think about his lips on her skin.

She continued reading.

> _Hothead is apparently called Murphy, and I’m not sure yet if I like him, but Brother Bear seems to trust him, and that’s good enough for me. Aquaman seems really close with Echo – I still haven’t worked out her real name, because everyone here calls her Echo – but he said they’re not together, they’ve just known each other a long time._  
>    
>  _I stopped writing this letter for a while, because Eric Jackson died today._  
>  _He was only a medic. He was just trying to get someone else to safety. The other guy was sitting on a landmine and when Jackson tried to move him, they both died. He couldn’t have known._  
>  _Miller is distraught. Blake and Murphy have been holed up with him at the far end of camp all day. Blondie, who I now know is called Riley, and Echo have been helping me instead. It all seems so senseless, and it shouldn’t have even happened._
> 
> _The guy that Jackson went out for shouldn’t have been in that area, he knew that was dangerous, and he went anyway._
> 
> _And his friends don’t seem to be as bothered as Jackson's friends. I don’t know, it just seems a little weird, y'know? A member of your unit died and you are just sitting by the fire, drinking beer? My unit and the second unit have some problems. I might try and stick with the third unit from here on out. Maybe I can help Miller._
> 
> _Something really feels off here, Sweetheart. I think I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on some of the guys in my unit. Thelonius was acting odd today, I'm beginning to think he's involved._
> 
> _I don’t know what’s going on here Clarke, but I’m going to figure it out._
> 
> _Anyway, sorry to be a downer. Happier things. How’s school? How are your friends? Is Jasper still a party monster or has he calmed down? Monty got a girl yet? Or a boy, I’m not judging. How did Mom take you coming out as bi? I know you told me first, because I’m your favourite, but I presume you’ve told her by now? Two years is a long time to sit on a secret like that. Don’t fight with her too much while I’m gone, Sweetheart. She does love you, very much, she just expresses it differently, that’s all._
> 
> _Stay safe, and take care of you and yours,_
> 
> _Dad_

  
Clarke tried to brush the tears from her cheeks, but they just kept falling, and eventually she gave up. She let them keep pooling under her chin, trying to just let it all out.

She was working herself up to read the fourth letter when Bellamy admitted he had to go to work for the evening. 

“Okay, I’m coming to the bar.” Clarke said, and he shook his head.

“No, Clarke, stay. Read your letters, get some closure. I’m sure Wells will stay as long as you need someone.”

“No, I can’t. I…” She couldn’t say what she actually meant: that she didn’t think she could read the letters without him there. So she tried to think of any other reason to go with him, “I… Y’know, I need a break anyway. It might be good to just stop staring at this pile of letters. Three down, three to go – halfway seems like a good place to have a breather, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” Wells said helpfully, and Bellamy used the hand already holding hers to yank her to her feet.

“Alright then, Princess, whatever the hell you want,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, and she smiled, rubbing her eyes. 

“What I want is to take a break from crying for an hour or two.”

“Then that is what you shall get,” Bellamy started looking for a better work shirt, “if you want to keep reading the letters in the bar, you can just take the booth. It’s Friday, so no Jasper, and you’re unlikely to see Monty or Harper unless they’ve had particularly terrible days at work. Raven and Emori might be there though.”

“No, they won’t. Raven is working late at Wick's, and has been most nights since she got the job, although that definitely feels like code for ‘boning her boss’,” Clarke recalled, “and Emori is out of town this weekend on some kind of business trip.”

“I feel like I should already know this, but what does Emori actually do?” Bellamy asked. 

“I have no idea. She travels a bit, and it’s based out of Arkadia, so it honestly could be anything, and I’ve known her for too long to ask now,” she replied. 

“Fair enough,” he waved his arm towards the hallway, “So, you’ve got the booth to yourself, and me, Murphy and Miller on shift. You coming Wells?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this party,” Wells said, grabbing the three remaining letters and following them out the door.

* * *

Clarke still hadn’t looked at them. It felt like they were staring at her from where Wells had left them on the table, and it was starting to drive her a little crazy. 

She needed a distraction for a little while, so she shoved the letters in her pocket and shuffled up to the bar.

“Barkeep?” She called as she approached.

“Bellamy,” Murphy yelled out to the storage room, “Clarke wants something.”

“What, you can’t serve me?” She pretended to be offended.

“Of course I can, I just really like the look on his face when you order.” Murphy grinned. 

Bellamy emerged from the back, carrying a large crate of beer cans and looking irritated. She couldn’t blame him; it had been a particularly busy Friday, and she’d deliberately hung back with Wells for the last couple of hours to avoid adding to the hullaballoo. Miller had been panicking, but Bellamy and Murphy seemed to be handling it well, although Bellamy appeared more and more annoyed as the night wore on. 

“What do you want, Clarke?” He was trying to be as kind as possible, but she could see the look he was giving her. 

“Um…”

“I swear to _Zeus_ , Clarke, if you say ‘rum’–”

“You know what? I’ll have a Kraken.” She interrupted, choosing randomly from the selection of bottles, and Murphy mock gasped.

“Oh my god! Did… Did Clarke just _choose_ a rum? Of her OWN VOLITION!? Are pigs currently flying? Has Hell frozen over? Did I die and go to purgatory?” He started shrieking. 

“I can choose a drink, Murphy.”

“Not in my experience,” Bellamy said, but he smiled when he handed her the drink. “You’ve had this one before. You liked it.”

“Oh thank god,” Clarke relaxed and downed it all in one.

When she looked up, he was eyeing her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m fine, Bell. I just need something to take the edge off a little.”

“Sure, but I will cut you off, if you take off too many edges,” he said sternly, which made her laugh.

She was about to order something else, when Cage Wallace sidled up to the bar and flashed his pearly whites at her. Miller handed him his usual, and Wallace smiled and held his hand out to Clarke.

“Cage Wallace,” he said straightforwardly, “You’re Clarke, right? I’ve seen you around recently.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you,” she responded, resolving to be just as candid.

“Well, I don’t want to be too forward, but can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

“Any particular preference?” Cage asked, and Bellamy, Miller and Murphy all snorted and then tried to hide their laughter by doing their menial tasks with more intensity. 

“No, I’ll drink most things. Not a huge fan of beer though,” she said.

Cage ordered her a Long Island Ice Tea.

“Wow, you move hard and fast, huh? Already trying to get me drunk?” She asked, inching a little closer. Bellamy made the drink and slid it across to her, handing Wallace another of his usuals. He was watching them closely while he cleared out the ice tray, and Clarke wondered if it was just his protective nature or something more. It didn’t matter to her much at the moment though, because Wallace was leaning in closely and smiling.

“No, I just figure if you’re going to buy a cocktail, get one worth the money.”

“Excellent philosophy!” Clarke proclaimed. She took a large mouthful of the drink, already knowing she’d be drunk sooner rather than later, but not really caring. She needed the distraction. 

Bellamy knew he should give her some space, so he moved to the other end of the bar and struck up a conversation with Wells. 

She watched him go, feeling a little strange. Maybe that was the buzz, but she felt a lot less comfortable now that Bellamy was further away. She started itching to be closer to him. 

Cage started asking her about herself, and she was trying to come up with simple, surface-level answers. She wanted to humour the guy, but she knew she wasn’t interested in anything more than a one-night stand with anyone, not really. 

_Except Bellamy_ , a small voice in the back of her head said, and she tried to shake it out, but that only made her feel woozier. She’d had thoughts like that before, but never so blatant. It didn’t matter anyway – Bellamy didn’t think of her like that.

Wallace was asking her something else and she took a moment to answer, trying not to think about how much her heart was suddenly beating. 

“I love dogs. And my favourite movie is Rear Window.” She told him, and she knew Bellamy was smiling, even though he wasn’t looking at her, “I just love Alfred Hitchcock, and old movies in general, y’know? I keep making Bellamy watch them, and he says he’s not interested, but he always enjoys them once they’re on.”

* * *

* * *

Wells nudged Bellamy and whispered, “I feel like that has more to do with her enjoying them than you actually liking the films though, right?”

“I’ve liked every movie she’s forced me to watch,” Bellamy replied airily.

“Whatever, Blake, you can fool her, but you can’t fool me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, and rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, come on!” He rolled his own, trying to keep his voice down so Clarke didn’t hear them, “You cannot tell me that it isn’t killing you that Cage is all over her right now? It’s taking all your strength not to look over there isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Wells,” he said through gritted teeth, trying as hard as he could to keep his head facing forward when Clarke laughed at something Wallace said. 

“Hey, I’m just helping out my friends,” Wells said cheekily.

“How is this helpful?” Bellamy asked, and Wells chuckled, just as Clarke and Wallace started to walk towards the bar door.

He looked over at them and he knew immediately that something wasn’t right. 

He’d seen plenty of people leave this bar together – hell, he’d seen Clarke leave this bar with people, and he knew what it looked like. 

This just didn’t look right. 

Clarke was holding herself strangely, and Wallace was attempting to look flirty, but seemed to be almost carrying her. He glanced at the counter – Clarke had only had that one Iced Tea, so she shouldn’t be even close to that drunk yet. 

Which meant that Cage Wallace had spiked her drink. 

His heart stopped.

They were almost out the door by the time he realised, and he dropped everything he was holding and started moving after them, flicking a hand at Murphy, who immediately stopped serving a customer to give him his full attention. 

Wells was mid-sentence when he saw the movement and asked, “Bellamy? You okay?”

“No,” he said, ducking under the bar and jogging after them, “Clarke’s been drugged.”

“What?!” Wells gasped and followed, and Murphy jumped nimbly over the counter and joined him. 

When Bellamy reached the road, Wallace was bundling a barely conscious Clarke into the back of a dark car, and he broke into a sprint. 

“Clarke?!”

Clarke’s head moved in his direction, and Wallace quickly shoved her in and closed the door. 

Bellamy leapt towards them. He was aiming for Wallace, but he never got there. 

A huge weight careened into him and he went down hard, his shoulder hitting the ground and his jeans ripping as they scraped along the concrete. When he looked up, he saw a familiar face, and he’d never felt so terrified in his life – not for himself, but for Clarke.

“Did you miss me?” Dax said, leering over him. 

Bellamy reacted instinctively, kicking out hard. He felt his boot collide with Dax’s knee, and the man dropped. 

He tried to move, but Dax swung his fist and caught him in the back of the head. 

He fell back, and Dax stabbed him in the thigh. 

Bellamy cried out in pain. There was blood running down his leg, and Dax was getting ready to strike again, but when he heard the car starting, he knew he had to get to Clarke.

When he looked up, Cage Wallace was climbing into the passenger side of the car, and he forced himself up, trying to reach them. 

Dax stabbed him again, in the abdomen this time, and he faltered enough for Dax to yank him back and force him down onto the ground. He could feel his torso being pummelled, and something heavy was on his arms. 

He ended up with the man on top of him, holding a knife to his throat.

“Not the warm welcome I was expecting, Blake!” Dax was pressing the blade into his neck and he could feel the blood on his skin. 

“Sorry,” he said, staring up at the man he hated so much. Then he saw something sneaking up behind them, “Does this help?”

Dax looked confused for half a second before Murphy’s arm was around his throat, dragging him back.

Wells was gripping his arms, trying to help him up, and he scrambled to his feet and started running after the car, which had moved away from the curb. It was already too far gone though, too far down the street, and he dropped back to his knees, defeated. 

He couldn’t stop them. 

He lost her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY GUYS! 
> 
> Get ready for some serious angst and mayhem in the next few chapters!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this, I adore all of you.


	12. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has been kidnapped and Bellamy will do everything in his power to get her back.

### 

_All of the prisoners serving life sentences_  
_Wait for the earth to suddenly shake_  
_For the walls to somehow suddenly come crumbling, tumbling and_  
_For the bars to somehow magically break_  
  
**Prisoners - Regina Spektor**

When Clarke came to, she couldn’t move.

No, that wasn’t it. 

She could move a little.

Her head was pounding and she was having trouble working out what was going on. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she couldn’t open them. 

She tried to shake her head, but it only made the headache worse. At least she could move her head.

_Why did she think she couldn’t move?_

She tried wiggling her toes, and she could. She was definitely wearing shoes. 

She could twiddle her fingers too. 

But when she tried to move her arms, or her legs, or the rest of her, she felt stuck. 

_Why did she feel stuck?_

She tried to open her eyes again, but when she cracked them a little, she felt immediately woozy and had to shut them.

She shifted slightly, and realised she was sitting up. She was sitting up and she couldn’t move. Something felt tight around her wrists, and her chest felt a little too constricted. She couldn’t remember how she got here. The last thing she remembered was chatting to Bellamy in The Dropship. 

_No._

No, she was chatting to someone else…

“You alright, Clarke?” Cage Wallace’s voice tore through her skull and she flinched, the pain waking her up a little more.

It all came flooding back – she had been drinking with Cage, when she realised she was getting drunk far too quickly. She knew immediately she had been drugged, and she tried to get Bellamy’s attention, but when she’d moved, Wallace had grabbed her and dragged her from the bar. 

She dimly recalled seeing Bellamy as she was shoved into the backseat of a car, seeing him get pummelled by someone as he ran towards her. She remembered him calling out her name, and how desperate he’d sounded. 

The fogginess that had been enveloping her mind lifted, and she almost gasped. 

_Oh god._

She was going to die. 

She opened her eyes. 

She was in a dank, barely-lit room, tied to a chair. She could see the zip-ties on her wrists, and she knew her ankles were strapped to each chair leg. When she glanced down, there was a rope around her middle, holding her still. 

Her eyes were still adjusting, but she knew there were no windows in the room, and only one door that she could see. There was one light, swinging above her, casting long shadows. She almost rolled her eyes at the cliché of kidnapping someone and hiding them in a creepy horror basement, but her head was still aching.

“Clarke?” Wallace asked again, “You still with me?”

“What?!” She snapped her head up to look at him, which was a mistake. Waves of pain rocketed through her skull and she prayed to go back and slap past Clarke for every time she'd claimed to have 'the worst hangover ever' - not one of them could even touch this. 

He was hovering a few feet away, bottle of water in his hand, “Are you alright?”

“What the HELL do you mean, am I alright!? You drugged me! And _kidnapped me!_ And I’m tied to a fucking CHAIR!”

He winced, but it didn’t sound genuine, “Yeah. Sorry, but I needed you subdued.”

“Oh really? Scared I’ll kick your ass in a fair fight?” She spat.

He shrugged, “A little. But really, I was just following instructions. My boss wanted you. Well, actually, she wanted you dead, but we thought we might get more out of it if we asked you a few questions first.”

He tried to lift the bottle of water to her lips, but she pulled away. He sighed and stepped back, further into the shadows. With a start, she realised that there were two other people back there. An older man, and someone about Cage’s age. 

“This whole thing will go a lot easier if you co-operate, Clarke.” The older man said.

“This _whole thing_ being that you kidnapped me? Where the fuck am I? Who are you people?”

“We just run a company that works closely with the military, and unfortunately, that makes the military kind of in charge of us. So when our liaison with the military starts conducting shady business in war-torn countries, and we profit off it, that kind of makes her our boss.” Cage explained.

“Boo hoo,” Clarke hissed, “you’re profiting off it – people died because of the shit you did!”

“Shit we’re still doing,” the third man corrected. 

“Emerson, shut it,” Cage snapped, but Clarke was interested now. She tried not to show it, tried to maintain her demeanour of anger and confusion, but she was worried it wasn’t convincing enough when the older guy stepped forward.

“We just need you to answer a few questions for us, Clarke, and then we’ll let you go,” he said, a comforting note in his voice, but she wasn’t a fool. 

“Sure, because that’s how kidnappings usually work,” she said sarcastically, lolling her head back to stare at the ceiling. 

The man she now knew as Emerson moved behind her and yanked her head up, forcing her to stare at them. 

The older man smiled, a hard, unforgiving line, “Alright. You want honesty, fine: we’re going to keep you here indefinitely. Maybe for the rest of your life. But the more you co-operate, the less painful this is going to be for you.”

Clarke shrugged, feeling the ties at her wrist pinch slightly. 

“We need you to tell us about _these_ ,” Cage said, dangling three letters in front of her face, and she blinked slowly. 

The realisation hit her like a bullet train, and she tried to remember how to breathe. 

They wanted her because of her father.

They thought she knew something. 

_She was going to die here._

* * *

* * *

Bellamy was going out of his mind. 

He couldn't calm down, he was so terrified and angry and panicked and his brain just kept offering more and more painful scenarios.

_She's being tortured somewhere... she's dying in the back of that van... she's going to get tortured and then discarded like garbage... she's going to die like Gina... she's going to die... she's going to die... YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING._

That brought him hurtling back to reality.

Once he admitted Clarke was beyond his reach, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand: Dax. 

Murphy was holding him so tightly that his face was turning blue, and Bellamy enjoyed the sight for barely a second, before he realised they couldn’t let Dax die.

“Wait!” 

Murphy looked up, irritated, “Why? He tried to kill us _twice_ , I’m just returning the favour.”

“We need him alive – we need to know where Clarke is.” He said, and Murphy grumbled, but released Dax. 

Bellamy grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into The Dropship, depositing him into the booth and leaving Murphy to watch over him while he coughed and spluttered against the pleather. Miller was serving a customer, until Bellamy jumped onto the counter and started yelling. 

“Alright, the bar’s closed! Sorry, family emergency, we have to shut early today, I apologise! I promise we’ll be open again tomorrow, but there’s an emergency tonight so everyone needs to leave!”

Miller spun around to catch his eyes, “What are you talking about?”

He barely had time to get the question out before he saw the state Bellamy was in – there was a wound in his gut, crimson spreading over his shirt, and the left leg of his trousers was drenched in blood from the hip down. Not to mention the manic look in his eyes. 

“EVERYONE OUT. BAR’S CLOSED. FAMILY EMERGENCY!” Bellamy just yelled louder, and finally the people started putting their drinks down and moving to the exit. He jerked a thumb at Miller, who finally looked behind him and saw the person Murphy was guarding. Within seconds, Miller was at the door, holding it open as the last of the customers trickled out. 

When everyone was gone, he locked the door and rounded on Bellamy, “ _What the fuck?!_ ”

“Clarke’s been kidnapped,” Bellamy explained, and the colour drained from Miller’s face, “and Dax is involved.”

“Shit.”

Bellamy nodded and led him over to the booth. Wells was hovering awkwardly, looking terrified, and he put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m good,” Wells said unconvincingly. 

“Wells, it’s okay to not be okay.”

“Just tell me we’re getting Clarke back, right? Tell me we’re gonna get her back Bellamy! She’s all the family I have left!” He started to sound panicked, and Bellamy moved to stand in front of him.

“Take a deep breath,” he said quietly and waited before Wells complied before continuing, “Wells, I swear, if it’s the last thing I do: I’m going to get her back.”

He was trying to appear calm, but inwardly, he was as petrified as Wells. He knew he needed to hold it together to get her back, but he was hanging on by a thread, and without her there to calm him down, he was worried he might snap. He was a prisoner to his own mind, and he wasn't sure how to cope.

“What the hell is going on, Bell?” Miller interrupted. 

Bellamy sighed, his hand still on Wells’ shoulder, and turned to face his friend, “I don’t know, but I know it has something to do with Jake Griffin.”

“No shit, if he’s here.” Miller snapped, glancing at Dax, “I thought you died in prison?”

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read,” Dax said huskily, rubbing his throat. 

“Sure. Next time we’ll make sure the job’s done properly and just kill you ourselves,” Murphy said, grinning, and Dax at least had the brains to look a little scared. 

“I can’t tell you where they’re keeping the girl, because I don’t know,” Dax wheezed, “I was just brought in to take you out, distract you long enough for them to get away.”

Bellamy nodded at Murphy, who pulled a switchblade from his pocket and held it to Dax’s throat. 

“Well then what use are you?” Bellamy asked.

Murphy pressed harder. 

“Wait! Wait,” he hissed, “I don’t know where she is. But I can tell you who took her.”

“Keep talking,” Bellamy said.

“Cage Wallace and his father own a business that profited off the kind of shady shit that I, and many of my fellow soldiers, were doing in the countries we were deployed. They work for the part of the military that employs people like me.”

“So?”

“So, after Jaha’s trial, everyone thought that it died down, that it had just been those two units in that area. They thought that Jaha was the ringleader, and they had enough evidence to prove it. There was even a thorough investigation that found no wrongdoing since Jake Griffin’s death – but it was lies. They paid the investigators off. It’s still going on, _all over the world_. And the Wallace’s are still profiting off it. They aren’t the only ones. You won’t believe how high up this goes, and I don’t even know the highest on the chain of command, I only know who the second in command was, when Jaha was arrested.”

“Who’s that?”

“Shumway,” Dax said, flashing them a grin. 

Bellamy didn’t think for one second that Dax was telling the truth about not knowing who was in charge, but at the moment he’d take any information he could get, “He's still in jail, so that's not exactly helpful.”

"Yeah, but he still has a direct line to the head honcho."

"And?"

"You could lean on him," Dax said, as if it was obvious.

Bellamy crossed his arms, "Shumway isn't going to tell _us_ anything, and you know it."

"Well, then you'll have to find Clarke the old fashioned way - by looking." Dax said smugly, and Bellamy punched him in the face, hard. 

"And?" He asked, tired of playing Dax's game.

“And, as long as you’re keeping me alive, I’ll give you information,” Dax said, spitting blood on the floor, "But if the public finds out about the Wallaces involvement, your Clarke is in more danger."

They all looked at each other, silently agreeing, and then Murphy tied him up and gagged him, making sure to tie everything too tight. Bellamy was starting to really feel his injuries, and he needed a shower. He couldn’t do anything right now, not until he was thinking clearer. 

“We’re gonna need some help,” Miller suggested and Bellamy nodded.

“You know who to call."

"Ghostbusters?" Murphy chimed in, and Bellamy smacked him on the back of the head as he stepped away from the booth. 

"I’m going to go stitch these up,” he gestured to himself and trudged up the stairs to Miller’s flat, sitting down in the bath with a sewing kit. 

He was trying to get the needle through, to concentrate, but his hands kept shaking from the adrenalin and panic. He couldn’t turn it off, couldn’t shut off the darkest part of his mind.

Even now, his brain just kept supplying images of Clarke injured or lost or dying. Images of Clarke, dead in a gutter somewhere, because he couldn’t save her. They kept whirring through his mind until he eventually lost consciousness, propped up in the bath with his wound only half-tended to.

* * *

When he woke up, he was in a bed, and he sat up immediately, then winced at the pain that shot through him. His hand went to his abdomen and he leaned back against the headboard. The clock on the wall said 7am, which meant it had been six and a half hours since Clarke had been kidnapped. He cursed himself for not waking up sooner, until he realised where he was. 

He was in Miller’s room, and there was talking in the kitchen. 

“Their plane just touched down. They’re on their way.” That was Miller’s voice. 

“Octavia just texted me. She’ll be here in the next hour,” there was Monty, “and she’s bringing someone with her. Some guy called Lincoln.”

“No! We can’t bring even more people into this, it’s bad enough you three found out!” Miller again. 

“Found out? You left a guy tied up in my favourite booth!” Jasper’s voice sounded stressed.

“Yeah. In my _locked bar_. How did you get in, by the way?” 

“I had a key made a couple of years ago, just in case,” he replied. 

“Mmkay, well, later we’re definitely going to have a chat about your boundary issues, but right now, we just need to work out the game plan here.” Miller snapped. 

Bellamy shuffled to the end of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. When he stood up, agony rocketed through his left leg, and he looked down, pulling his boxers up to see the cut on his leg perfectly stitched. He vaguely remembered being in the tub, barely started on the one in his gut. He realised that someone must have fixed him up when he fell unconscious. 

He pulled on a shirt and struggled his way into his jeans, standing still to let the pain subside before he moved again. 

He staggered forward until he reached the door, and he leaned against the wood for a moment, still listening to his friends argue. 

“Game plan? I’m sorry, how is any of this a _game_?” Harper’s voice suddenly rang out. 

“That’s a poor choice of words, obviously, but we do need to work out what’s going on.” Miller sighed. 

“What’s going on? Clarke’s been kidnapped, Bellamy’s injured, Wells is having a nervous breakdown, we’ve got a murdering psychopath tied up downstairs and Octavia is bringing her _police officer_ boyfriend! Did I miss anything?” Monty asked angrily.

“Yeah,” Bellamy replied, opening the door, “Clarke was kidnapped because they think she knows something about her father’s murder.”

His friends all looked at him immediately, frozen in position. Monty and Jasper were hovering by the stairs, Miller was sitting down at the table clearly trying to take hold of the situation, and Harper was sitting on the kitchen counter. Wells had his eyes closed in the corner, seemingly doing breathing exercises, and Murphy was nowhere to be seen – presumably downstairs keeping an eye on Dax.

“Bell, you alright?” Miller asked immediately, rushing over to check him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, leaning against the table. 

“You sure?” 

“No!” he snapped viciously, “No I’m fucking not, because Clarke is out there somewhere, and I don’t even know if she’s still alive or not! I wasn’t paying attention, I couldn’t get to her in time, and it’s _my fault_ she’s gone.”

“Bellamy,” Miller grabbed him roughly by the elbows and forced him to look at him, “this is not like Octavia. Okay?”

“No, you’re right – this is MUCH WORSE. Octavia was just getting hurt, I could protect her from that. Clarke is GONE. She’s just gone, and I can’t help her, I can’t… _I can’t_ …” He started to panic, his chest tightening when his brain started offering all the ways Clarke could be suffering. 

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Miller said soothingly, trying to calm him down. 

Jasper and Monty moved to stand beside him, argument forgotten, so they could all steady Bellamy.

“It’s okay, Bell,” Monty said. 

"She's gonna be okay," Harper chimed in from her place on the counter.

“We’re gonna get her back,” Jasper continued. 

“And then I’m going to kill Cage Wallace,” Bellamy finished, focussing on quieting the pulse in his ears. 

“That’s the spirit,” Jasper clapped him on the back. 

He nodded, breathing back under control, and they all followed him as he headed downstairs. He wanted to check that Murphy hadn’t murdered Dax, but he also needed to be at the door when his sister arrived so he could have more control over the situation. 

“I put a sign on the door saying we’re closed due to a family emergency,” Miller gave him a look, “and I’ve told everyone to make sure they’re not followed when they arrive. Of course, that might not help if there’s someone watching the bar, but I’m going off the logic that they think now that they’ve got Clarke, Dax has the rest of us handled.”

“Who else knows?” He asked Miller as they descended the stairs. 

He could already see Murphy, pacing up and down in front of Dax, who was tied up against the jukebox, looking miserable.

“Octavia. She told her boyfriend and apparently, he wants to help. Raven and Emori want to be involved too, they’ll be here any minute, and–”

As they hit the bottom floor, the door swung open and Roan and Echo strode in.

“Where’s the fire?” Roan asked, and pulled Bellamy into a hug, which he reciprocated briefly. He stumbled back and clutched his ribs, but managed to stay standing despite the sudden shot of discomfort. 

“It’s been a while,” Echo said, smacking his arm as a form of greeting and he smiled weakly at her. 

“Yeah. Wish it was under nicer circumstances,” he sat on a barstool, resting heavily on the counter. He shouldn’t have let Roan hug him. 

“I don’t. We work best under pressure,” Echo slid into the booth beside Jasper, who had his feet up on the table, and she mimicked the action, crossing her ankles on the wood. She waved lazily at her old friends, while Roan hugged them, and barely acknowledged the other people in the room.

“You can’t just be casual? Hang out because you like us?” Miller asked.

“I don’t like anyone,” she pointed out, but she smiled at him anyway. She might claim otherwise, but she really did have a soft-spot for the former soldiers. 

Murphy paced a little closer to the group, but didn’t take his eyes off Dax, who was banging his head against the wall in distress. He remembered Roan and Echo, and unsurprisingly, they remembered him, so it looked like he was trying to bludgeon himself to death before they could. Wells was still upstairs, hopefully continuing with the breathing exercises, because once he saw the two Azgedan soldiers, he’d probably have a heart attack. 

“Hope you weren’t thinking of starting the party without me,” Raven said as she entered, Emori on her heels. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bellamy nodded at them, “besides, Octavia isn’t here yet.”

“Yes, she is,” Octavia’s voice responded, as she swung the door back on its hinges. She was tailed by a huge man with tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves and a sombre expression on his face. Octavia shifted her weight from foot to foot, adrenalin coursing through her veins, “You look _terrible_.”

“Thanks, O.” He looked down at himself, at all the dirt on his skin, contrasted against Miller’s clean clothes, and realised he hadn’t seen a mirror in a while. He knew she was right though – if he looked half as awful as he felt, it must be pretty damn bad. He still needed a shower.

“Bell, it’s gonna be okay,” Octavia said reassuringly, “Clarke’s smart, she’ll keep herself alive until we find her. And I’m gonna do whatever it takes. We’re gonna get her back.”

“What if we can’t?” Bellamy muttered, almost to himself, and Murphy smacked him upside the head. 

“Every time you even think about giving up, I’m going to hit you,” he explained helpfully. 

“Awesome,” Bellamy gritted his teeth and looked up at his friends, “Everyone ready?”

Monty and Harper pulled up chairs next to Jasper, seemingly afraid to sit in the booth next to Echo and the collection of miscellaneous weapons she kept on her person. Roan rolled his eyes good-naturedly and stayed standing, while Miller and Murphy sat beside Bellamy at the bar.

Raven and Emori edged into the booth, and Lincoln sat down on the end. Octavia stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder, and Wells finally emerged from the flat, keeping his eyes to the ground as he walked over to sit next to Jasper. Jasper whined about having to move up, but let him shuffle in anyway. 

Once they had all gotten comfortable, they stared back at Bellamy, who suddenly realised they were looking to him for information.

“Okay. Clarke’s father was Jake Griffin.”

“Shit.” Roan breathed, and Echo shifted her legs off the table and sat up straighter. 

“Clarke was kidnapped by a man called Cage Wallace, and his father.”

Murphy interjected, “According to Dax, there’s at least one other person directly involved – Cage’s right-hand man, a vicious ex-SEAL named Emerson.”

Bellamy nodded his thanks and continued, “I believe they took her because they think she knows something about her father’s murder that the rest of the world isn’t supposed to.”

“Does she?” Raven asked.

“I’m not sure, but she had her father’s last three letters in her pocket when she was taken. She hasn’t read them yet, but you can be damn sure that they have by now. So, if there’s evidence pointing to anything being sketchy about Jake Griffin’s death in there, Clarke’s in more danger.”

“Great,” Wells muttered sarcastically, and Bellamy shot him a look. 

“We need to know where they are, who they’re working with, and what exactly they’re looking for. This is why we all need to work together. We need to get her back. I can’t… We can’t lose Clarke. We can’t lose her.” He trailed off slightly, pained, and Murphy gripped his shoulder comfortingly.

“What do you need us to do?” Monty asked. 

“Well, Monty, Harper, you’re lawyers – do you think you could comb through Jaha’s trial and try to find anything they might have missed back then.”

“Are you kidding?! They were the best lawyers in the country, and you think we can find something they missed?” Harper’s jaw dropped. 

“The best lawyers in the country, who weren’t looking for anything except enough evidence to put Jaha away, which they found almost immediately. If something else got buried, we need to know what it is, so we know what they’re looking for.” 

“Fair point,” she pulled out her phone and started emailing her contacts to find the folders on the Jaha trial, Monty leaning over her shoulder to help.

“Jasper, not only are you good at chemistry, which we’re going to need, but you’ve got a flat that we can use as a base of operations, because planning out of the bar isn’t going to work long-term.” Bellamy looked pleadingly at his friend, but he needn’t have bothered. Jasper was willing to do anything the second he heard Clarke was missing. 

“Whatever you need, man.”

“Raven and Emori are going to help Murphy figure out what Dax knows, and then Raven is going to hack into the Wallace’s network.” Bellamy said, and the three of them nodded, “Once Murphy is convinced we know everything we need to, he’ll dispose of Dax as he sees fit.”

Miller cleared his throat loudly, and Bellamy suddenly remembered there was a policeman in the room. He glanced at Lincoln, who was sitting calmly, unfazed. 

“As in, let him go, obviously, because we don’t want Lincoln knowing anything that he might get in trouble for if he helps us,” Bellamy corrected.

Lincoln laughed, “I appreciate the concern for my job, Mr Blake, but a woman’s been kidnapped. I didn’t join The Force just to sit on the sidelines when someone’s in danger. So do what you see fit to Mr Dax – it’s my understanding that he’s a war criminal and a murderer, so it truly isn’t my business what happens to him while I’m not looking.” 

Octavia beamed at him, and Miller and Murphy were ducking their heads at him respectfully. 

“I can see why O likes you,” Bellamy said, “but I still owe you an over-protective brother speech, so remind me to threaten you when this is all over.”

Lincoln laughed again and agreed, and Bellamy knew that despite his misgivings, he actually liked the man. 

“Miller is going to keep running the bar, as per usual, but he’s going to keep an eye out in case anything odd happens here.”

“What?” Miller looked furious, “Bellamy, I want to help – she’s my friend too!”

“I know, Nate, but honestly you’re our best shot at looking like we’re just going about our business as usual. If we all suddenly stop everything, and they’ve got someone watching us, they might move her, or worse. In fact, I need you to open the bar tonight. We’ll keep it closed until the afternoon, but I think it’s best if you open as normal in the evening.”

Miller opened his mouth to say something angry in response, but Octavia got there first.

“What can we do?” She asked, gesturing at herself and Lincoln, trying to cut off the argument before it started. Miller continued to seethe, but didn’t say anything.

“Octavia, you’ve got bounty hunting skills, I’m sure you know how to utilise them. Lincoln, we need you to file a police report, reporting her missing. The sooner we do that, the sooner it looks like we’re leaving it up to the feds. But don't mention that we know it was the Wallaces - if they know we're putting authorities onto them, Clarke's in more danger.”

“I’ll keep an eye out within The Force as well, start looking through those channels, make it an official investigation.” Lincoln started writing something down on a notepad.

“Perfect,” Bellamy fidgeted in his seat slightly and winced, hand on his injury. Octavia looked worriedly across at him, but he waved her off, “Roan and Echo can help Octavia, but you’re mainly here to help torture Dax, and to help me storm the place where Clarke is being held. It’ll be just like the old days.”

“Yeah, except this time we’re not working for a corrupt organization that made a bunch of rich assholes richer, tried to kill us, and succeeded in killing many others.” Echo remarked.

“Welcome to the Military.” Roan said sarcastically.

“Fuck the Military.” Murphy said, took a shot, and then threw the empty glass at the jukebox. It shattered above Dax’s head and Murphy grinned as he watched the glass rain down around his eyes. Dax glared back, trying unsuccessfully to shake the shards from his hair. 

“Wells, you’re going to need to find anything at Clarke’s house that might be relevant,” Bellamy instructed. 

“That might be difficult, if Abby finds out her daughter’s been kidnapped and I was there.” Wells said nervously. 

“That’s where I come in.” Bellamy stood up.

“What are you going to do, Bellamy?” Echo asked casually, spinning a knife absentmindedly around her fingers.

“I’m… I’m going to call her mother.” He said, wincing, and everyone flinched. 

Not one person in that room would swap their job for his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the dream team, I've been looking forward to this chapter for ages - it was so much fun to write: dramatic and dynamic, just how I like it.
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying it, and thank you so much for all the kudos! I love receiving comments too - they brighten my day.
> 
> Come say hello on tumblr - I'm talistheintrovert, or for specific writing posts, introvertedtaliswrites, because my main blog is a bit directionless, if I'm honest.


	13. So Many Things I Know, But They Don't Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke bides her time, while Bellamy, Miller and Wells make a trip to the Kane-Griffin mansion.

### 

_Count the stars inside your mind_  
_Count the breaths, count heartbeats_  
_Count the sounds of life_  
_The light was shining in my eyes before I closed them_  
_And all the dreams I had the night before were gone_  
_The faces that I'd seen looked so familiar_  
_But I forgot them all when I saw the sun_  
_I know the morning is wiser than the evening_  
_I know that all of life just happens in between_  
_So many things I know, but they don't help me_  
  
**The Light - Regina Spektor**

Clarke was really sick of being tied up. 

It felt like at least a day, although it was probably less, of being grilled relentlessly about her father, and occasionally left alone to stew silently in the dark. It was too warm in whatever building they were keeping her in, not to mention mouldy. 

She felt damp. 

She rotated her wrists, trying to alleviate some of the stiffness from her joints. 

“You’re telling me you don’t know what information your father knew before he died?” Cage asked her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t even read those three letters.”

“You said that before, and I didn’t believe it then either.” He sounded bored, and she resented the tone. She had been stuck in the same position for hours, yet he got to come and go as he pleased.

“That’s your problem, Wallace, not mine,” Clarke barked back. 

He slapped her. 

“You want to start talking back now, Clarke, is that it?” Wallace sounded a lot more menacing now, and for the first time since she woke up, she actually felt fear. 

“Look, Cage, I wouldn’t tell you what I know, if I knew anything, but I don’t. It’s pointless keeping me here, tied up, because it’s not going to help you. Hitting me isn’t exactly ideal tactics either, if you’re trying to get information out of me. Especially information that I DON’T HAVE.” She yelled. Her face felt hot where his handprint was. 

“Oh, that’s what it is? Little Princess doesn’t like being tied up?” He asked mockingly, kneeling in front of her, and she wanted nothing more than to kick him in the face. 

“Don’t call me that.” She snapped. All she could think about was Bellamy. About how she was never going to see him again.

“Oh, I forgot, you don’t like that nickname, do you?” He smirked, and she considered trying to headbutt him, but he was too far away. 

“Let her be, Cage,” Dante said, striding into the room. Cage stood up hurriedly, trying to seem in control of the situation, and Dante stepped forward and cut Clarke’s left hand free. Before she had a chance to use it, Emerson grabbed it, and she wondered where he’d appeared from – she was certain he hadn’t been in the room for a while. He held her still while Dante cut the other tie, and then he pulled her hands together and zipped a new tie around both of her wrists. 

She looked up at them quizzically, and Cage looked just as confused. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“She’s right – she’s more likely to co-operate if we don’t treat her like a prisoner – torture doesn’t work for gathering intel, and your tactics aren’t working, so we try it the nice way.” Dante freed her legs, but not before he attached ankle cuffs with a long chain between them and a heavy weight in the middle.

“You’re hoping to Stockholm Syndrome me into telling you what I know?” Clarke stood up shakily, trying to remember the last time she ate. 

She wanted to make a move, but there were three of them and one of her, and she was weak. She needed to bide her time, figure a way out of there, and hope that Bellamy was doing as much as he could to get to her from the outside. 

It suddenly struck her that Bellamy might not even be alive. The last she’d seen of him, he was on the ground with someone on top of him, beating him. For all she knew, he could be in the hospital, or worse. 

The breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, trying to think of anything else. ‘He’s fine. He’s fine. We’re going to be fine.’

When she opened them again, the men were gone. She was alone, in a small, dingy room, but at least now she could move better. She stretched, eyeing up the walls. No visible weaknesses, but she was sure if she had enough time, she could find one. The chair was still in the middle of the room, the bulky, rusting metal the only interesting feature of the room. She surveyed it, and considered using it to hit someone, but realised it was nailed to the floor.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she cursed out loud, kicking one of the legs, and it clanged loudly.

“No point doing that, you’ll only injure yourself,” Cage’s voice said from the other side of the door. A tiny hatch in the bottom of the door opened and he pushed something through it. 

A paper bag full of fast food fell onto the floor as the hatch swung shut, and Clarke’s mouth started watering immediately. She hadn’t eaten for hours and she was starving, not to mention exhausted. 

She considered not eating it, just to spite them, but she needed them to think their strategy was working, so she sat down cross-legged and opened the bag. 

There was a box of chicken nuggets, some fries, and a small drink in a paper cup. There was nothing sharp, no plastic cutlery or even a straw in the drink. They thought ahead, not giving her anything that she might be able to use, but that didn’t faze her.

She was going to get out of here.

She had to.

* * *

* * *

  
  


Bellamy knew that he needed to shower, or sleep, or both, but he just couldn’t find the time. 

Octavia and Lincoln had left for the police station, and Murphy was still keeping an eye on Dax, now with Emori by his side, but everyone else had hunkered down in Jasper’s living room, working hard.

Everyone had split into pairs or was sitting alone going about their assigned tasks, and he kept obsessively checking up on them, until Harper pointed out that he was just avoiding doing his own job. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket, but he still wasn’t sure what to say. _‘Hey, Mrs Griffin, just calling to let you know that your daughter got kidnapped on my watch, and also I knew your husband, who died when I could have prevented it if I’d acted sooner,’_ didn’t exactly have a nice ring to it. 

Instead he kept offering to help everyone, all day, and when lunch rolled around and they all started eating as they worked, he just powered through. 

Miller had opened the bar and put his other staff on shift, returning to Jasper’s to help. 

He had taken it upon himself to make lunch for everyone, seeing as he didn’t have an assigned job for the day, and had been in the kitchen for the last hour cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing. 

Everyone else took their bowls with glee, wolfing down the food while they concentrated, but Bellamy kept avoiding it. 

He managed to make it all the way through the day, but when night fell and Miller re-emerged from the kitchen with everyone’s dinner, he put his foot down. 

“Blake, eat something,” Miller said.

“Not hungry,” he responded, leaning over Raven’s shoulder to help her find a file on Wallace’s database. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, but then neither was she. She’d said they’d know it when they saw it, but that wasn’t exactly helpful.

“I wasn’t asking,” Miller retorted, and put a bowl of noodles down in front of him. 

“Don’t care, Miller. I’m not hungry.”

“Well, you either need to eat something, or call Mrs Griffin, because you’re avoiding both.” He pointed out, and Bellamy sighed. He was right. He’d avoided the call all day, but Lincoln had texted him half an hour ago to say that if he didn’t do it soon, they would hear it from the police, and he knew he needed to get ahead of that.

He walked out into the empty kitchen and leant against the fridge, dialling the number that Wells had written out for him. 

He felt his dread rising with every unanswered ring, but eventually, she picked up. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs Griffin?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Uh, my name is Bellamy Blake, I… I’m a friend of your daughters.”

“Oh. Okay. Why are you ringing me so late in the evening, Mr Blake?”

“I wanted to talk to you, before the police called.” He said, and immediately regretted it. 

“Police?!”

“Mrs Griffin, I need you to stay _calm_.”

“What are you talking about?” She was starting to worry, he could hear it in her voice, and he knew he needed to get to the point quickly.

“Clarke… Clarke was kidnapped today.” Well, that was technically true – it had been past midnight when she’d been taken. The white lie still felt wrong though.

“WHAT?!” She screamed, and he lifted the phone away from his ear slightly. 

“I promise you, Mrs Griffin, I’m doing everything I possibly can to get your daughter back, I just–”

“ _What happened?!_ ” She asked. He could hear her moving around, and he wondered what she was doing. 

“She was drugged and thrown into a van. Before I could get to her, I was attacked by someone who was hired by the kidnappers to stop me, and they got away.”

“Who was it, who took her?”

“Cage Wallace,” Bellamy explained, and he heard her audibly gasp. “We think it has something to do with her father.”

There was a brief silence, before she said, “Where are you, I’m coming now.”

“Actually, Ma’am, I think it’s best if we come to you. We don’t need some kind of media circus.” 

Surely she knew better than anyone what her presence in downtown Arkadia would do? There’d be reporters on street in minutes.

“We?”

“Wells, my friend Miller, and I.” Bellamy said, conveniently leaving out the team of ten other people, deciding that he could tell her about that later if he trusted her. He hadn’t decided to bring Miller with him until that moment, but he knew he needed someone to keep him grounded, and Miller was the best choice.

“Wells is involved?” Abby asked, and her voice had an edge to it that he couldn’t decipher. 

“He was there when she was taken,” Bellamy clarified. 

“Oh,” she said, and then softly, “Alright then. You better come up here. As soon as possible.”

“We’re leaving now.” Bellamy grabbed his keys and stomped back out the front, gesturing at Wells and Miller to follow him. 

He didn’t miss Miller, out of the corner of his eye, packing a Tupperware container full of noodles and he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to eat them, but it was nice that his friend was making the effort.

* * *

When he pulled up to the Kane-Griffin mansion, he was a little floored by its grandeur. Sure, he’d assumed it was huge, from the pictures, but they didn’t really capture the scale of it. 

It was lit up against the night sky, almost golden in the rays from the spotlights at the base of every column, and it felt like a Pantheon: something ancient and distinguished. 

It was enormous, and pristine, not a single blade of grass out of place, and he suddenly felt very insignificant.

“Scary, isn’t it?” Wells asked, glancing at him. 

He nodded and they approached the door together. He’d barely knocked when it swung open, and Abby Griffin was standing in front of him.

He’d seen her in photos and on the news, everyone had, but she was different in person. There was a sternness about her that the cameras didn’t catch, and a frailty to the way she was holding herself that Bellamy assumed was from worry. 

“Wells,” she nodded in his direction, but kept her eyes on the men she didn’t know, “Mr Miller?”

“Yes ma’am,” Miller said, holding out his hand, and she shook it briefly. 

She tilted her head, “Bellamy Blake, I presume?”

They hadn’t ever met at the trial, not because she wasn’t there, but because she was constantly surrounded by an entourage of bodyguards and lawyers and reporters. He’d thought about it a few times – introducing himself as Jake’s friend – but his guilt always got the better of him, and he’d stayed away.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and she stepped aside to let them in. 

They followed her down a long hallway into a small sitting room, where Marcus Kane was waiting for them.

Wells and Bellamy shared a look, but before they had a chance to say anything, Marcus stood up to shake their hands, “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Mr Mayor,” Bellamy must have looked nervous, because Abby was watching him carefully, the same way he’d seen Clarke appraise him a hundred times. He felt a pang in his chest, but he tried to ignore it, and Abby offered him a coffee. He politely refused, but she poured him one anyway, and he noticed that she’d already given one to Miller, and Wells, who was sipping it gingerly. 

“Please, call me Marcus, I’m not the mayor today,” Marcus said, “I’m just a parent, worried about his step-daughter.”

“Please, tell us everything you know.” Abby begged, and gestured for them to sit. 

He lowered himself onto the nearest chair with a small degree of difficulty, flinching slightly as his midriff twinged. He was still amazed that the knife had missed his major organs, but he knew that at some point he’d have to go to an actual doctor. Not for the first time that day, he acknowledged that Clarke could have fixed him up easily, and he tried to push the thought away. 

Everyone else was already seated, and Wells leaned forward, “You good, Bellamy?”

“Yeah, Wells, I’m fine,” he muttered, his hand at his side, as if that would somehow stop the pain. 

“You sure? I can get you some painkillers – there’s some in the kitchen,” he said, and Bellamy waved him off. 

“What’s wrong with you, Mr Blake?” Abby asked, that look as if she were assessing him still on her face.

“I’m fine, it’s not important. Focussing on my health isn’t going to get Clarke back,” he snapped, perhaps a little too harshly. 

“Wells?” Abby rounded on him instead.

“He was stabbed.” Wells said quickly, and Bellamy had the feeling that Clarke was right about Wells being unable to keep a secret from Abby Griffin. 

“What?!” Abby and Marcus said as one, both of them staring, shocked, at Bellamy. 

He glared at Wells before answering, “The guy who attacked me when I went after Clarke stabbed me. I’m _fine_ , I’ll live.”

“Have you been to the hospital?” Abby asked.

“I haven’t exactly had time. I’ll go to the hospital once I know she’s okay.” He said through gritted teeth.

“I stitched him up,” Miller offered, but that didn’t wipe the worried look off Abby’s face. 

“Let me take a look,” she offered. 

“Later, ma’am,” Bellamy said softly, and Marcus seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to accept any help until they discussed what he’d come there for, so he sat forward. 

“We have the police report, but we’d like it from you. You were there. You said Cage Wallace took her? That wasn't on the report.”

“Yeah, he was flirting with her at the bar, and he bought her a drink. I should have paid more attention, I should have…” He swallowed, “He drugged her. I noticed when they were leaving together that something wasn’t right – he was practically carrying her. I ran after them, and then Dax attacked me.”

“Steven Dax? The man who was involved in Jaha’s scheme?” Marcus asked, but it seemed he already knew the answer – he just wanted to hear it from him. 

Bellamy nodded, “I was in one of the units stationed with Jake. I found out about the stealing and the money, and me and a few others were talking about turning them in, when Dax found us. He tipped off the enemy and they pinned us down. By the time we got out of there, Jake was already…” He trailed away. He knew rationally that it wasn’t his fault, but he’d carried his guilt around for years. Telling the story to Clarke had been hard enough; telling it again felt impossible.

Luckily, he didn’t need to, because Marcus stepped in again, “Is that how you know Clarke?” 

“Actually no. I’d heard Jake mention a daughter about my age, but I never met her. I served another year and a half after Jake died, and then I got out and moved back to Arkadia. I’ve been working in a bar, The Dropship, for the last four years. Then, it turned out that Clarke was friends with my friends, and she started coming into the bar.”

“So you became friends?” 

Miller snorted, “If by friends you mean they _hated_ each other, then sure. Friends.”

Bellamy turned an icy glare on him, but he just shrugged. 

“Yes, at first we hated each other, and then I realised that she was Jake’s daughter and I made more of an effort to be nice, even if she wasn’t going to be.”

“That was _nice_? I can’t imagine what your version of mean looks like.” Miller asked.

“Miller, I brought you here to help, not to point out that _I’m an ass_.” He snapped, and Miller shut up. Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose and continued, “After a while, we became friends. She was dating a douchebag who was cheating on her, so she moved out of his place, but she had nowhere to go. All her stuff was in her car and I had a spare room, so she moved in with me. She’s been living at my place for five weeks.”

“She’s been living with you for that long? How long was she living with her boyfriend before that?” Abby asked, a small crease between her eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry Mrs Griffin, Clarke didn’t want you to know.” Wells stepped in, “she’s been back in Arkadia for four and a half months.”

“What?!” Abby shrieked. Marcus put a gentle hand on her knee. 

“She quit her job. I think she was just overwhelmed. When she came back home, I just… I don’t think she wanted to answer a lot of questions about why she was back, so she stayed away. She didn’t tell _me_ until last week.” Wells explained, already knowing it wasn’t going to be good enough. 

“You’ve known for a _week_?” There was a dangerous edge to Abby’s voice now.

“Y’know, I don’t think this is super important right now,” Wells said nervously. 

“I agree,” Marcus said, “what’s important is getting her back. You can be angry with her once we know she’s safe.”

Abby nodded, closing her eyes as if to ward off the frustration, and when she opened them, her gaze was a lot clearer. 

“So, Mr Blake,” she folded her arms, “what else can you tell us?”

“We think she was taken because she’s knows something about her father’s murder,” he said bluntly. He was really sick of saying that.

Abby didn’t look anywhere near as surprised as Marcus, who was staring at him in shock. Bellamy watched her, suspicions rising. 

“But you already knew that, didn’t you Mrs Griffin?” A muscle in his jaw started ticking, and it was taking every ounce of strength he had to stay calm. 

She put her face in her hands and admitted, “Yes. I knew the second you said Cage Wallace.”

Marcus twisted around to look at her, “What? Abby?!”

She didn’t meet his eye, “A few years ago, when Clarke was still in med school, and you and I were engaged, Clarke was throwing herself into studying pretty hard. I think she was just trying to forget about everything. And then one day, she came home, and she told me that someone had said something which reminded her of Jake, and it made her feel weird.”

“Not sad?” Wells asked, confused.

“No, I specifically remember she said ‘weird’ – like something wasn’t right.” There were tears in Abby’s eyes now, “So she disappeared into her room, and when I went to check on her…”

Wells’ eyes bulged, and Miller and Bellamy shared a look, unsure.

“She was unconscious, clutching some of Jake's old letters in her hands. There were some next to her as well, ones she hadn't even _opened_. There was an empty bottle of pills beside her. I took her to the hospital and got her stomach pumped, and I kept it under wraps.”

Bellamy knew now why Wells had been so insistent about staying with Clarke while she read the letters. But he’d never thought for a second… He cursed himself, yet again, for not noticing.

“I know about all that, Abby, I was there. What does this have to do with Cage Wallace?” Marcus looked irritated. He probably didn’t want to be reminded of that memory any more than Abby.

“She was fine, she went into therapy, and she promised me it would never happen again, and she locked the letters into a box. Then, a few weeks later, someone approached me, said he had a message from the Wallaces – they knew all about Clarke’s meltdown, they had the hospital records somehow, and if she stayed in Arkadia, they would release it to the press. They said they’d been watching her, and she was digging in to things she shouldn’t have been. He made it abundantly clear to me that the longer Clarke stayed in Arkadia, the more danger she was in. So I moved her to Polis.”

A sudden realisation dawned on Bellamy, “You let her hate you for moving her away from her friends when you were actually trying to _protect_ her?”

“Of course. I would have done anything to keep her safe,” Abby said. 

“Why did you never tell me any of this?” Kane asked. 

“You were running for mayor, you needed plausible deniability,” she said simply, and he sat back, recognizing that she was right, but still annoyed. 

“Did they ever ask you for anything else?” Miller asked. 

“No. All they wanted was for Clarke to be kept away from Arkadia. I presumed because of you, Wells,” Abby sipped her coffee, “and now I suppose it was also because of Mr Blake. The year you moved back to Arkadia lines up with that man coming to visit me. She used to go to The Dropship a lot – I guess they were trying to stop you from meeting. Whatever it was they didn’t want her figuring out must have something to do with you.”

“I just hope she can work it out, because if she doesn’t know anything, and they figure that out, then she suddenly becomes expendable,” Miller explained, and the knot in Bellamy’s chest felt tighter.

* * *

* * *

Clarke was pacing around in a circle, counting her steps. She’d tried sleeping, because she was exhausted, but she was too wired, too scared, so she had to think of other things to do. 

She’d tried push ups, and stretching, and committing the room to memory so she could formulate an escape plan, but nothing came to mind, and eventually she just ended up pacing. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking for, but more food was shoved through the hatch and she grabbed it and wolfed it down while she walked, never slowing her pace. 

She had figured out that there were no cameras in there, but Emerson was constantly outside the door, which had a small window in the top half. There were very few blind-spots from said window, but she’d managed to find two on her walk, so she made a note of them and continued moving. 

Every now and then, she would hear something and think it could be a clue to her whereabouts, but everything up until that point had turned out to just be creaks and groans. Wherever she was, it was old. 

Eventually, night rolled around. The only reason she knew that it was night, was because Cage told her so, and it did occur to her that he might be lying. 

But maybe not. 

Either way, she’d been trapped for at least 24 hours now, and she was starting to become worried that no-one would ever find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's starting to spiral a little in this chapter, but in the next chapter... he really snaps.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one guys, and thank you all so much for your comments, and kudos! I love and appreciate all of you. 
> 
> Come and say hello to me on tumblr! I don't bite, often.


	14. This Is Why We Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets his stitches tended to by Abby, while Clarke tries to find out more about why she was taken. 
> 
> Bellamy is starting to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE CHAPTER POSTING! I was writing the next chapter and it got really long, so I split it in half. Which means you get a chapter early! Yay!

### 

_Your stitches are all out_  
_But your scars are healing wrong_  
_The helium balloon inside your room has come undone_  
_And it's pushing up at the ceiling_  
_And the flickering lights it cannot get beyond_  
  
**One More Time With Feeling - Regina Spektor**

__

It turned out that Abbigail Griffin was a tornado once she put her mind to something. A trait that Clarke seemed to have inherited, thank god. 

She was already standing, rifling through a filing cabinet as she spoke, “knowing the connections that the Wallaces have, it’s going to be nearly impossible to find Clarke through the official channels, which I believe you’ve already figured out. Which means Marcus and I were the last to know. Bellamy, who else knows about this?”

Marcus moved to help her, pulling out a different drawer. 

Bellamy started listing them off, “My sister is a bounty hunter, her boyfriend is the cop who called it in, obviously Wells and Miller know.”

“Is that all?”

“Not by a long shot,” Miller interjected. 

“Murphy and Emori are currently trying to extract information out of Dax, who’s tied up in the bar, Jasper's letting us use his apartment as a base of operations, Raven’s trying to hack into the Wallaces’ database, Monty and Harper both work for a legal firm, so they’re digging up Jake’s case to find what they don’t want us to, and we called our old army buddies – Echo and Roan. They were friends with Jake, just like us, and they’ll do anything to find the truth about his death.”

Marcus and Abby had both paused to stare at him, and he shrugged.

“Luckily, our friends are multi-talented,” he said nonchalantly.

“You called in a whole _team_ to save my daughter?” Abby sounded touched, and Bellamy felt uncomfortable.

He shifted in his seat slightly, glancing at Miller, who was just looking at him smugly. Wells wasn’t much better; barely containing the good-humoured eye-roll in his direction. 

“Technically, Miller did most of the calling,” he tried.

“I only actually dialled the phone. We all knew that you would do it, but you were unconscious in my bathtub at the time. If you hadn’t been passed out, you would have hijacked a plane and flown to get Echo and Roan yourself.” Miller scoffed, and Bellamy felt his face reddening as everyone in the room continued to stare at him. 

He cleared his throat, “Yeah, well… she’s my friend. Not to mention, she was taken on my watch. I’m not going to let anything else happen to her because I didn’t _try hard enough_.”

Wells snorted, “Yeah, buddy, _no-one_ is going to accuse you of that.”

He wrung his hands together and avoided everyone’s gaze, “Right, I need some water.”

He stood up and cried out, almost immediately stumbling forward as he felt something in his leg tear. Miller caught him under the arm and he flinched at the way his chest felt like a knife was still being dragged through it. 

“No, that’s it. You’re not doing anything else until I’ve had a look at you.” Abby said crossly, and he was too tired and in too much pain to refuse her. 

Marcus continued with the files and Miller and Wells moved to help, all of them quietly in discussion as Doctor Griffin pulled Bellamy into the kitchen. 

He sat up on the counter, and she disappeared for a moment to get her medical supplies. By the time she returned, he had worked out that at least one of his chest stitches was popped, not to mention it felt like his whole thigh was on fire. 

She pushed his shirt up and tutted, reaching for something in her bag, “You’re lucky you’re not dead, young man.”

“Lucky, huh? That’d be a first,” he muttered, and she cut all the stitches in one swoop of her scissors. He gasped in pain and squinted at her, “was that really necessary?”

“Well, you stitched these with sewing needles and cotton thread, so yes. I have actual surgical sutures.” She got to work removing the old string, and he gripped the edge of the counter and tried to think of something else. 

Once she got to the re-stitching part, it got a lot more painful, and he wished he was unconscious. 

“Full disclosure, Mr Blake, we looked you up. We already knew about your stint in the army. Noticed your juvie record too.” She said, and he tensed. 

“Uh-huh.”

“Calm down, I can’t do anything about this laceration if you’re so wound up.”

Bellamy tried to relax, but his mind was whirring – what if they didn’t trust him because of what they knew? Before he could say anything, however, she spoke.

“You cared about my husband?” Abby asked softly. 

“I did,” he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, but he was glad of the distraction. 

“You care about my daughter,” Abby continued. 

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway, “Yes.”

“Can you take care of her? Once she’s home safe, and I have to believe that we’ll get her home, can you take care of her?”

“I don’t think Clarke needs taking care of, ma’am,” he said, and she let out a soft huff that might have been a laugh. 

“Well for starters, call me Abby. And of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t need anyone, or anything, she can do it all and bear it all on her own – she has done for years.”

“What are you saying, Abby?” He asked directly, and she tore her eyes from the stitches to look up at him for a moment. 

“I’m not a very good mother, Bellamy,” she said. 

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that – it definitely wasn’t where he expected that conversation to go. He just stayed silent and hoped that she’d elaborate. 

“Clarke needed me, and I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I wasn’t focussed on her. I suppose even before that I was never the favourite; I’m the one who pushed her into med school, and Jake was always the one encouraging her to follow her dreams. But after he died, she just seemed so strong, and I didn’t… I wanted to believe that she didn’t need me, so I didn’t try to see past her collected exterior, I just… and then, when she…” Abby refocussed and started on the last few stitches, staring intensely at them while she talked, “When I walked in on her, on the floor, with that empty bottle of pills, I knew I hadn’t done enough. I knew that I hadn’t done my job, as her mother. I couldn’t take care of her.”

“I’m sure you did the best you could–”

“No. No, I didn’t. That’s the point, Bellamy, I never really looked at her, never saw how much she was suffering, because I just saw my own grief, my own pain. But you…” She finished on his chest and put a big piece of gauze over it, taping it down, “Marcus looked you up, the second you rang. We knew you were in juvie, but we also found out about your childhood, and why your sentence was so lenient. When you knocked on my door, I could see it, so clearly in the way you hold yourself. You look like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I can’t imagine what that must be like for you. But the second you started talking about my daughter…”

She moved away to wash her hands, and he distinctly heard the small sniffle and the shake of her shoulders as she sobbed over the sink. He stayed seated, knowing that the Griffin women tend to despise being vulnerable in front of strangers. 

“The second you started talking about my daughter, Mr Blake, it was like you forgot your problems. None of it mattered to you.”

“Because all that matters is getting her back,” he finished for her, and she spun around to face him. 

“Exactly!” She said. There were tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t look upset: she looked determined. “You talk about Clarke and nothing else in the world is more important than her.”

He crossed him arms, “She’s my best friend. She… she’s my _best friend_ , and she’s _gone_ , and it feels like its my fault. Of course nothing else is important: I’m not going to rest until she’s home, _safe.”_

“And will she be safe, when she’s home, Mr Blake? With you?”

And suddenly it clicked, he realised what she was asking: once the dust had all cleared, would Bellamy be there for Clarke when Abby knew _she_ couldn’t be? She knew that her daughter wouldn’t run to her for help, but Clarke trusted Bellamy, and that was apparently good enough for Abby. 

“Yeah, Abby, I’ll keep her safe.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Abby said, wiping her cheeks, “Now we need to fix your leg and then you need to get back to your team. You can’t find my daughter if you’re stuck here, can you?”

* * *

* * *

A hour ago, Clarke had almost been bored.

Now, Clarke was _wishing_ for boredom. 

Somewhere in the 25th (she estimated) hour of her captivity, Emerson had stomped away for a moment. 

She had thought perhaps he was swapping shifts with someone, but it seemed he was only checking that the other two weren’t anywhere near her cell, because after a minute or so, he returned, and entered the room. 

He had a menacing look about him, and when she backed up, he followed her all the way to the wall.

“Miss Griffin,” he said, mocking, “You must know as well as I do, that the second you’re not useful, you’re dead.”

She swallowed, but said nothing, and the hot breath that whooshed from his lips when he laughed made her nose sting. It smelled of alcohol and cigarettes, and it worried her to think that he might be drunk. 

“When Wallace eventually gives up on you, he’ll give you to me,” Emerson chuckled, “and then we’re gonna have some _fun_.”

He was eyeing her suggestively, and fiddling with his belt buckle in a way that felt very ominous, and she tried to press herself further into the cement behind her. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Clarke asked, trying to keep her voice under control. 

“ _Because I want you afraid_.” He said simply, and then he strode from the room. 

Clarke had remained, frozen against the wall, for what felt like forever, until she heard Cage return. Then she’d snuck into one of the blind spots and tried to steady her breathing. She knew she was going to have a panic attack, but she thought if she just concentrated hard enough, she could bypass it. 

Cage took that moment to kick the door open, and she curled her knees up against her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Clarke,” Wallace sounded almost sympathetic, “just tell us what you know, there’s no need to be scared of us.”

She almost scoffed at that, before she remembered that he was unaware what Emerson said – Emerson had made sure they were out of earshot before he threatened her. Actually, maybe she could use being terrified to her advantage; it was clear that the Wallaces pitied her. 

“Didn’t you say your boss wanted me dead?” She asked, peeking up at him. 

He shifted his weight a little, looking put out, “Yes. But… we want to renegotiate the terms of our agreement.”

Clarke’s eyes widened, “So I’m a hostage?”

“Yeah. We need you alive, in order for her to believe that we’re serious. So until she agrees to our terms, you’re perfectly safe.”

Clarke swallowed, “How long is that?”

“Don’t know. Since she won’t answer our demands, we figure she’s furious, but we also know she’ll never find this place, so she can’t take you out either.”

“What’s so important that she wants me dead?”

“Clarke, you don’t have to keep up the façade – we know you know. Jake’s letters were clear.”

She bit her lip. She had to read those letters. 

“And you’re going to use me, to keep yourselves alive?”

Wallace smiled, “Clever girl. Sit tight. My father will be back soon, and he’ll want to ask you some questions of his own.”

* * *

* * *

Bellamy's phone rang and when he answered, Lincoln was already apologising.

"Slow down, what's wrong?" He asked, anxiety rising.

"The officers investigating Clarke's case found a witness who swears they saw Cage Wallace throw her in a van - the news outlets all got ahold of it somehow. If the Wallaces haven't noticed by now, they're going to _soon_." Lincoln sounded frustrated, "I'm so sorry Bellamy, I tried."

Bellamy sighed, "Don't worry about it, Lincoln, it isn't your fault. Keep looking."

He filled the others in and they all agreed that if there wasn't a clock on their rescue mission before, there certainly was now. 

They needed to rest and regroup. 

It had been over 24 hours since Clarke had been kidnapped, and Bellamy hadn’t slept. He’d been briefly unconscious, but he wasn’t sure that counted. 

Abby had told him to get back to the bar, but he decided to send Wells and Miller back. He wanted to go through Clarke’s things, see if he could find anything about Jake that might help them. Wells had offered, but Bellamy had helpfully pointed out that Wells wouldn’t know what he was looking for. 

“I would,” Miller had tried, but he’d stared him down. 

Abby and Marcus were talking in hushed tones to his friends, and he knew they were all concerned about him, but he didn’t care. He just needed to find her. Marcus told him where Clarke’s old room was and he started moving slowly up the stairs.

“Eat something,” that was Miller, but he continued walking.

“I’ll get around to it, Miller,” he snapped, leaning on the banister as he walked. 

“I’m serious, Blake,” he called back, “Clarke will murder me if you die trying to find her, and you know it. And then she’ll murder you.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him because he knew it was true. Clarke would be furious if she ever found out how aggressively he was burning the candle at both ends, but without her there to scold him, he found he just didn’t care. 

“I can’t wait,” he deadpanned, and Miller snorted. 

Wells tried next, “Bellamy, at least sleep, just for a few hours.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“That’s literally the most egregious lie you’ve ever told me, and I’ve heard some fucking _whoppers_ ,” Miller said.

“Like what?” He finally spun around, halfway up the staircase, to see all four of them looking at him disapprovingly. 

“I don’t hate Octavia’s boyfriend,” Miller mimicked him.

“I mean, to be fair I was trying to be polite, but her boyfriend was a dick.” Bellamy remembered Atom, and also remembered the period after he broke Octavia’s heart and he had to be there to pick up the pieces. Abby and Marcus were watching the exchange in amusement.

“I’m glad I never went to college,” Miller rattled off, and Bellamy felt that one like a gut-punch. Miller knew how hard it had been for him to admit that he wasn’t going to be able to go, and it was a low blow. He crossed his arms, but didn’t say anything.

“I don’t hate Clarke’s boyfriend.” Miller raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him.

“I never once said I liked Finn Collins, Miller. I thought he was a douche the second I met him.”

“I don’t have feelings for Clarke,” Wells chimed in, and he rounded on him, walking slowly and deliberately back down the stairs.

“What did you just say?” He asked menacingly, and Miller stepped in front of Wells immediately, a calming hand out. 

“Bellamy, you’re injured, you’re tired, just take a breath, man.”

“Y’know, Wells, did you ever stop to think about the fact that if you weren’t hounding me about my supposed feelings for Clarke, I might have been paying closer attention to her? That if you weren’t mocking me for looking at her, I might have been looking when Cage slipped something into her drink?” His tone was icy, and Wells looked stricken. 

“ _Bellamy, hey!_ Back up!” Miller said, but Bellamy was angry now. 

“You were _there_ , Wells, when I told Clarke about my step-father, and about how responsible I felt for everything that happened. But you have the nerve to poke at me when I’m clearly already feeling responsible for what happened to Clarke? Why don’t you feel some responsibility, huh? Maybe if you weren’t being such an ass, she’d still be here.”

“Bellamy, that is _enough_!” Miller barked, and he put his hands on his chest, but Bellamy kept his eyes locked on the man behind him. 

There was anguish on Wells’ face now, and Bellamy felt the fists at his sides shaking. He didn’t want to hurt his friend, not really: he wanted to hurt himself. He knew he’d feel guilty about it the second the red left his vision, but right now he just stood on the bottom step and fumed. 

“You need to take a _big_ step back, Blake. Regroup.” Miller ordered, “It is neither yours, nor Wells’ fault that Clarke was taken – it was Cage Wallace who took her. None of us suspected that he might do anything like that, because we’ve all known him for years, or at least thought we did. You’d have had to be psychic to know that Clarke was in danger, Bellamy. Until you stop beating yourself up over this, you’re not going to be clear-headed enough to get her back.”

That snapped him out of it. He stopped looking at Wells and flicked his gaze back to his friend, who was more stony-faced than he’d ever seen him. 

“Get it together. Shower, eat something, sleep it off. We will call you the second there is any news, but you are no good to her like this.” Miller’s expression softened, but his tone didn’t, and Bellamy found himself nodding.

Abby and Marcus stepped forward. 

Marcus clasped his left shoulder gently, and Abby curled her fingers around his right elbow, but she was talking to Miller, “We’ll keep an eye on him, make sure he’s alright. You keep just doing what you’re doing, find my daughter.”

His friends nodded and turned to leave, but Bellamy couldn’t stop the slightly panicked breath that escaped him before he said, “The second you know where she is–”

“You’ll be the first person we call,” Wells snapped, and the two of them left. 

Marcus and Abby were looking at him sympathetically and it made him feel awful. He didn’t deserve their sympathy, he lost their _daughter_ , he deserved their hatred. 

Instead, they guided him upstairs, and put him in the spare bedroom closest to Clarke’s so that when he woke up, he could just go next door. 

They let go of him at the door and he stumbled forward onto the bed, landing face down in a pillow. He tried to thank them, but his exhaustion hit him so hard that he could barely make coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. 

They seemed to get the gist, however, and Marcus said, “We won’t let you sleep in too long, we’ll wake you up. There’s an en-suite in here, and if you need anything to eat, let us know, or just go down to the kitchen.”

There was a period of silence where he thought they’d left the room, until Marcus said quietly, “You’re a good kid, Bellamy. I can see why she likes you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everyone! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!
> 
> Everytime I see a new kudos or comment, I light up like a Christmas tree, all excited and bright, which if you know me personally, isn't a super common occurence. 
> 
> I love you all!


	15. Strangers In The Pages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke brainstorms escape plans, while Bellamy searches her old bedroom for clues. Marcus gives Bellamy a pep talk, and Raven finds what the Wallaces have been hiding.

### 

_You went into the kitchen cupboard_  
_Got yourself another hour_  
_And you gave_  
_Half of it to me_  
_We sat there looking at the faces_  
_Of these strangers in the pages_  
_'Til we knew 'em mathematically_  
  
**The Calculation - Regina Spektor**

Clarke was getting more and more nervous as the hours ticked by. 

The Wallaces were getting restless, she could tell. Every time they came in to check on her, they seemed less calm, and she was worried about what was happening on the other side of the door. 

At the moment, she was on the floor, leaning back against the wall and trying to listen through the inch of space under the door. They were pacing up and down, while Emerson stood stock still, and they sounded angry.

“If you had done your _job_ , they wouldn’t even know she was missing yet!” That was Dante. 

“It’s not my fault that Blake watches her like a fucking hawk – besides, if _Dax_ had done his job, he would have been properly distracted!”

“Do not blame your failures on others, Cage, I raised you better.”

“Yeah, well it’s my name they’re dragging through the mud on the news.”

“Whose fault is that? You should have planned ahead, then you could have kept your cover intact, and you wouldn’t be wanted for kidnapping.”

“Was it my idea to kidnap her? Or kill her? No I think on that front, I was just following orders.”

“Not my orders, boy.” Dante’s voice was sharp, and it cracked through the air like a whip, silencing any response Cage had been about to snap. 

Clarke realised that the police must know she was missing, and that they already knew Cage had done it, which meant that Bellamy had called them, or maybe someone had seen her being abducted. Either way, she was pleased: people were looking for her. 

She scrambled away slightly when she heard the bolt turn, and Dante entered the room. Cage was glowering silently behind him as the door swung closed. 

“Miss Griffin, how are you feeling today?” Dante asked.

“Fine,” she responded.

He sighed, frustrated, “Our… _employer_ is growing restless. We are leveraging your life, and you are giving us nothing to leverage it with. We need to know what you know, to keep you alive.”

“And to get yourselves a bigger paycheque, right?”

“I believe this is what they call a win-win scenario, yes?” Dante glared at her. 

“What’s to stop you killing me the second I tell you anything?” Clarke asked.

“Nothing,” his voice was quiet, but the stare that accompanied it was clear enough, “but if you don’t tell us everything you know, we’ll _definitely_ kill you. You have 48 hours.” 

He left, and she was alone. 

She tried not to think about her impending death – instead, she thought about escape.

* * *

* * *

When Bellamy woke up, it was to the sound of his phone ringing. He shot up, still wincing from the pain of moving as he answered it. 

Raven didn’t bother with niceties, “I think I know where she is.”

“You _think_?” He growled back, voice still husky from sleep. When he checked his watch it told him he’d slept a while: it was midday. 

Friday.

36 hours since Clarke had been kidnapped.

“Well, I don’t know, but I’ve narrowed down all the properties that the Wallaces own, including the ones that they don’t want anyone to know about - they’ve got six abandoned properties that they’ve kept off the public record. She has to be in one of those. She has to be. I finally hacked through their firewalls and found most of the shit they’re trying to keep hidden, and it’s intense. There’s still some stuff I can’t get to though, but I don’t think it’s all the Wallaces – I think someone else is running it and they’re just doing their bidding – because there seems to be a gap in the information.”

“What kind of gap?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me. Find anything at Clarke’s yet?”

“I’m looking now.” He stood up and crossed the room, ducking immediately into the one next door.

“The second we’re sure which of the six it is, we’ll pick you up. Trust me Bellamy, six is good. _It’s great_. It means she’s closer than she was a day ago.”

Raven hung up and Bellamy took a second to take in Clarke’s old bedroom. He’d never assumed her to be the girly-girl, pink walls type, and he was quietly pleased to be proven right. 

Her walls were light green, and there seemed to be stuff everywhere, but none of it looked overly messy. Clarke wasn’t a tidy, everything-has-its-place person, but she was an organised woman, and it showed in her room. Her bed was neatly made, no fluffy cushions or cuddly toys in sight, but there was a Dollhouse poster on the wall beside it – Eliza Dushku watching over her as she slept.

He could think of worse things. 

Her own artworks were all over the walls, stacked up in the corner and lying on her desk. Her desk was covered in pens and paint and brushes, all put away into their own containers, but lying sprawled across the top were her med-school books, laid out over an old painting. He shifted them aside to find it was of her father, and he almost started at the likeness.

She really was an incredible artist, he couldn’t believe she’d given it up to be a doctor. Except of course he could, because he knew Clarke could do anything, even if she didn't want to. He shouldn’t be surprised. 

He reached under her bed and found the lockbox when she kept the reminders of her father. The key was already in it from when Wells had grabbed the letters, so all he needed to do was unlock it. 

Just as he was about to, the door cracked open slightly, and Marcus’s head peeked around the edge. 

“You alright, Bellamy?”

“Fine, Marcus.” 

Kane seemed to take that as an invitation to come in, and he slid the door open with his foot. His hands were occupied with the tray of food he was carrying: orange juice, coffee and toast.

“How’s the injury feeling?” He asked as he placed the tray on the chair nearest Bellamy.

“Fine.”

“There’s aspirin on the tray, and I’ve been told I have to stay until you’ve had something to eat.”

“Abby?”

“No, Miller.” There was a small smile playing at Marcus’s lips.

He snorted, “Yeah that sounds about right. You know, he appointed Clarke as the official watchdog to make sure I eat when I’m stressed, and she takes it really seriously. Murphy used to do it, and he would just wander off, or forget, but the first time, Clarke stared me down until I ate half a bowl of fries. This was back when she didn’t even like me!”

“That sounds like Clarke. When I was running for mayor, I was constantly tense, and I became engaged to her mother while I was campaigning. I thought for sure that she’d despise me for it, that she would see it as a political trick to gain votes – marry the widow of a war hero – but she didn’t. She pulled me aside one afternoon, to tell me that no matter if she and her mother were on the outs, it had nothing to do with me, and it never would. And at the end of the speech, she shoved a bottle of water in my hand and reminded me to eat something before my next meeting. She's a remarkable girl. She knew I loved Jake, and she knows I love her mother. I hope she knows how much I love her as well.”

“I’m sure she does,” Bellamy said. 

“Yeah. I never said it enough, you know?” Marcus frowned, “I always worried about saying it, because she’s not really my daughter, but… I never had children of my own, and I’ve known Clarke since the day she was born. She was my goddaughter.”

Bellamy nodded as Marcus talked, downing the coffee in one go and starting on the toast.

He unlocked the box and started rifling through its contents, “How did you meet Jake?”

“We lived next door to one another growing up, and Jaha lived across the road. Went to the same high school, the same college. We both met Abby. Both fell in love with her, but… he was the better man. He deserved her. I was happy for them, I really was. I was beyond devastated when he died. Abby and I just sort of gravitated towards each other after that. I can almost see Jake laughing at me now, _‘when I said you could have Abby over my dead body, I didn’t actually mean dead, Marcus’_. He was such an easy-going man, but he had principles. A lot like Clarke.”

“I wouldn’t call Clarke easy-going,” Bellamy said offhandedly, pulling a stack of old sketches from the box. Some of them were clearly Clarke’s, but the others must have been Jake’s – he was talented too.

Marcus shook his head, “she used to be. Since Jake died, she’s been a lot more…”

“Uptight? Intense?”

“I was going to say anxious.” He smiled again, that curve of the lips that said he knew something that Bellamy didn’t.

“Yeah…” Bellamy felt his heart sink, “I mistook her anxiety for a superiority complex, at first.”

“She does that deliberately, you know – it keeps people from asking her if she’s okay. She got sick of pity.”

“I know the feeling,” Bellamy scowled. He’d been pitied a lot, by anyone who knew his story, or assumed it, and it wasn’t a fun experience. It was why he’d developed his own wall to keep people out, different to Clarke’s, but not by much. 

Clarke hadn’t pitied him though: she’d empathised. 

Marcus slid a stack of paper from the tray and handed it to him, “These are my emails from Clarke. I went through them and found all the ones where she mentioned Jake. I also included all the ones from the last few months.”

“She’s been emailing you?”

“Once a week – like clockwork.”

“Did she tell you she was in Arkadia?”

“No. She told me about her new friends, and how she’d met up with some old ones, but I didn’t click that she was home. She has friends all over Europe as well, although I don’t think she ever became really close to anyone like she did with all of you. In fact, you’re the first person she’s really opened up to.”

“Since who?”

“Since no-one. Everyone else was around when it happened – you’re the first person she told. She talked about it in one of her emails. You should read them.”

Bellamy eyed them gingerly. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what Clarke thought of him, and it felt wrong to read them without her permission. It felt like a violation of her privacy. Even as he ransacked her room for information, it felt much more personal to read something she sent her only father figure, without her present. He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. 

“I will, once I get through this box,” he mumbled, finding a collection of old photos of Jake. He started fingering through them.

Marcus noticed Bellamy’s shift in demeanour and changed the subject, “Abby found the name of the man who threatened her; she knew she’d looked him up at the time, and she found the file she was looking for.”

“Let me guess; his name was Emerson?”

“Yeah, Carl Emerson, how did you know?”

“From what brief info Dax gave us, he’s Cage’s right-hand man.”

“That explains why he was threatening Abby. Do you–”

Marcus’s question failed on his lips as Bellamy flipped to the next photo. It was of a bunch of high ranking military officers, from some dinner Jake must have attended. He was standing in the middle, with Thelonius and Marcus, and everyone else was standing stiffly either side of them. It was one of those photos only taken to show that higher ranking soldiers were capable of brushing shoulders with those lower, as Jaha and Griffin clearly were.

There were two women, and three men, in full uniform, medallions and hats and all. He vaguely recognised all of them: the three men were the highest ranking military officers in the armed forces at the time (one of them was now the Secretary of Defence) and one of the women was wearing the insignia of the Sergeant Major. They were the highest-ranking soldiers in the army, standing next to two low-ranking soldiers and a politician.

The other woman was the wife of the president, clearly just there for the photo op – Bellamy couldn’t help but wonder how many photos there were of Abby like that – but it was the first woman that he noticed. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and she looked the most irritated by the situation, her blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

He was sure he’d seen her somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where. There were no names on the picture, and the ones stitched into their uniforms were too small to read. He realised Kane had stopped talking and shifted his gaze.

“Marcus?”

“Yeah?”

“You cut yourself off, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just… I remember that night. It was one of the best and worst nights of my life. It was the worst because it was the first function like that I’d ever been to – I’m not an army guy, I’m a politician – and I was so uncomfortable the whole time. And it was the best because Jake and Theo made it their mission to cheer me up. This was the worst of it; those people hated me, they didn’t want me there. Especially the Sergeant Major, she seemed to really dislike me. Right after this photo was taken, Jake and Theo dragged me into the kitchen so they could force-feed me shots.”

“I always forget that you were on first name terms with Jaha.” There was a hard edge in Bellamy’s voice.

“You weren’t?” Kane asked, confused, “I thought you served with him?”

“Yeah, but we never exchanged first names; it wasn’t like being friends with Jake.”

“Nothing matches a Griffin.” Marcus sounded like he’d said that before. In fact, Bellamy would have bet that he probably used to say it to Jake, and even Clarke. He couldn’t imagine Abby having the good humour for it, but then he didn’t really know her, just what Clarke had told him.

Bellamy pocketed the photo and kept rummaging. Marcus helped for a little while, but eventually he left, presumably to report to his wife, or even Miller.

Most of what he could find in Clarke’s room was sentimental, not helpful. He found a few of the scribblings she had taken down while she was on the phone with her dad – notes like:

> _Don’t forget to mention the girl you’re dating!_
> 
> _‘This is the last tour I do, I promise’ yeah, sure Dad._
> 
> _Mom’s being a bitch… maybe don’t say bitch to Dad._
> 
> _‘Thelonius is staying for another year’ – I hope Wells is okay._

  
He kept skimming through them; they were just notes she’d written as Jake talked, a mix of topics she wanted to bring up and things her father was saying. Bellamy assumed it was so she had receipts if he ever claimed he didn’t say something after the fact, which only made him like her more.

He’d torn the room apart after an hour, and he rang Miller.

“There’s a few things that might mean something, I don’t know, how’s it going down your end?”

“Roan and Echo are getting restless, and Murphy’s getting a little creative with his switchblade, but aside from that, everyone’s just keeping their heads down and getting their jobs done.”

“Harper and Monty find anything yet?”

“They’ve dogeared a few things, but it would probably make more sense if they had the full picture – those three letters Clarke had with her would probably be most helpful.”

“Yeah, I’ll just summon those to me right now with my handy wand,” Bellamy snarked. 

Miller huffed, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes _Mom_ ,” he grumbled back, and Miller laughed, a little harder than he expected. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… that’s what the delinquents call you and Clarke – Mom and Dad.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. You’re both always the most sober, you’re easily more sensible and grown-up than any of the rest of us, and you bicker like an old married couple. _Mom and Dad_.”

“When Clarke gets home she’s going to kill you.” Bellamy grinned, his first genuine smile in days, and Miller laughed again.

“I’ll be glad to have her back – she can scold me for not taking good enough care of Dad while she stabs me to death.”

He hung up and Bellamy sighed. He could smell himself, and he knew he needed a shower, so he tidied Clarke’s room and tried to find a bathroom. He eventually discovered that his own room had an en-suite, and he struggled not to roll his eyes at the extravagance of it all. 

Once the hot water hit his face, he felt better. It felt oddly indulgent, taking a shower, no matter how quickly he was in and out – like it was wrong to be doing something for himself. But he needed to keep his wounds clean, and his friends were right; there was no point working himself up into a frenzy. That wasn’t going to help anything.

* * *

When Bellamy limped up the stairs of _Vinyl Frontier_ and into Jasper’s apartment, he didn’t really expect the explosion of files, food and his friends. 

There were open boxes of pizza scattered all over the apartment, along with bottles of soda and half empty tubs of ice-cream, which looked to have almost reverted back to a liquid. 

Jasper himself was crouched on the kitchen floor, a concoction of chemicals surrounding him, and he looked more focussed than Bellamy had ever seen him. Monty and Harper had spread a collection of boxes out over the living room, and there was paper everywhere. If he squinted it looked like snow. 

Raven was sitting on the kitchen counter, alternating between looking interestedly over her laptop at Jasper and concentrating on whatever she was typing. Miller was nowhere to be seen – presumably at work – and Roan and Echo were sleeping against each other in the corner. Wells was asleep in Monty's room, which was being used in rotation.

Murphy and Emori weren’t visible, but he could hear them yelling loudly in Jasper’s room, and a whimper followed it: Dax. Well at least he knew his friends could be counted on to inflict pain where necessary. That would come in useful. 

None of them even looked up as he entered, so immersed where they in their tasks. 

Octavia was sitting at Jasper’s equivalent of a dining table, big enough for only two people, and she was glaring angrily at her phone. He moved over to sit next to her, collapsing exhaustedly onto the uncomfortable wooden chair. 

“You still _look_ terrible, but at least you smell better,” she remarked, wrinkling her nose a little. 

“Aw, you always know what to say,” he snarked back, and she raised her eyebrow at him, but didn’t look up from her phone. 

“Find anything important?” She asked, dispensing with the pleasantries. 

“Who knows? I could guess, but without those letters, or something positively criminal in Jaha’s trial, we don’t know what else could possibly have been suspicious about Jake’s death – he was murdered by Jaha, it’s pretty cut and dry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned against the wall, “I brought a few things that I thought might be helpful, but I have no idea. I don’t know what I’m doing, O. I’m flying blind… I….”

Octavia looked for a moment as if she were about to say something nice, but before she could actually achieve the feat, Harper and Monty leapt up and high-fived, yelling excitedly. Roan and Echo shot up, wide awake, and everyone else was waiting for an explanation.

“What?” Bellamy asked frantically. 

They glanced at each other, as if waiting for the other person to speak, and Raven rolled her eyes, “Speak, nerds!”

“You’ve been glued to that laptop for the last two days, and we’re the nerds?” Harper challenged. 

“Yes.” Raven said confidently, “now spill.”

Monty grabbed a piece of paper, “There’s a saying at our firm: “if you get a good lawyer, you’re better off praying, but if you get a _great_ lawyer, worship _them_ ”. Basically, a great lawyer is shorthand for a corrupt one. Luckily, the attorneys on both sides of the Jaha trial were not only great, they were the greatest.”

“Jaha’s lawyers missed something?”

“No, Jaha’s lawyers _buried_ something.”

Everyone sat forward, but Monty didn’t need the encouragement, He forged ahead, “Jaha’s phone records. Limited reception out in the middle of nowhere, but they found hotspots occasionally. Jaha made a call barely an hour before he shot Jake Griffin.”

“Why is that relevant?” Roan asked. 

“Because it’s not to his family, or his friends, or any other number on record: it’s to a burner cell. A burner cell that he called multiple times while he was out there - for weeks.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Jaha didn’t decide to kill Jake on his own – he ran it past someone first, or maybe he was ordered to.” Monty said triumphantly, and that was all they needed to know. Jake’s death was part of a crazy conspiracy and a cover up, bizarre as it seemed. 

“Why did they bury it?” Octavia asked.

“Presumably because they’re in the pocket of whoever Jaha called. That’s a key piece of evidence: if they had asked Jaha about it on the stand, that’s reasonable doubt, it’s enough to at least open a new line of questioning.”

“So either Jaha’s lawyers were incompetent, which we know they weren’t,” Harper chimed in, “or they were corrupt.”

“But why didn’t the prosecution say anything?” 

Harper shrugged, “Either they were paid off too, or they just wanted a conviction. It was a high-profile case, and everyone knew Jaha did it, so there’s no point taking clout away from their case.”

“Do you know who bought the burner?” Bellamy stood up quickly, feeling his stitches twinge, but at least they stayed in this time.

“No, but if Raven has finished looking into the Wallaces, we might have a few suspects. That way, we can run their credit cards and see if anything comes up.”

“Surely if they were sensible enough to buy a burner, they won’t be dumb enough to be caught paying for it?”

“Probably not, but it’s worth a shot – we can at least see if they were in the same part of the country as the phone.” Harper started handing swathes of paper over to Raven, who resumed typing and seemed to instantly forget there were other people in the room.

“Where?”

“Funnily enough, Arkadia.” Monty reached for one of the tubs of melted ice-cream and tipped it upside down, drinking it. 

“Oh great!” Octavia said sarcastically. 

“What are you whining about, you don’t even live here?” Monty pointed out. 

“It’s just another reminder of how truly awful Arkadia is, and why I live so far away,” she snapped back, and he tilted his head in acknowledgement, turning to her brother instead. 

“Bell, did you find anything?”

“Not sure,” he pulled the few pieces of paper that had seemed pertinent from his bag. Monty and Harper took them over and sat either side of Raven, deep in thought and passing the pages between them. 

Dax cried out again, and Bellamy poked his head in the door, “Everything alright in here?”

Dax was curled up on the floor, tied to the end of the bed, his wrist flopping uselessly above him. Some of his fingers looked broken, and Emori was sitting cross-legged on the bed, frowning down at him. Murphy was hovering over him, switchblade in hand, and Bellamy could see the fresh cuts all over the other man’s arms and chest. 

“Perfect,” Murphy’s eyes were bright, and the wolfish grin that always crossed his face whenever violence was involved was sitting easily on his lips, “Dax won’t tell us anything.”

“Yeah, that sounds like everything’s going _swimmingly_ ,” Bellamy said sardonically, and Murphy’s grin only widened. 

“He was never going to tell us anything and you know it – he knows that the second he tells us something we actually want to know, we’ll kill him. So he’s keeping his mouth shut. He was trained by the same people we were, Blake.”

“I know, but you could at least _act_ like this isn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” he pointed out, and Murphy snorted.

“Why bother?” He retorted. 

“Fair point.” 

“All of you, get out here!” Raven yelled, and Bellamy almost sprinted to the door, Murphy and Emori hot on his heels. 

“What?!” He leapt across the room to stand where everyone else had gathered around her. 

“I’ve found it, _I know what they’re trying to hide!_ ” She said triumphantly.

She turned the laptop around, and they all leaned forward to read what was written there, all of their mouths dropping open in shock.

* * *

* * *

Clarke was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. She was ignoring the hanging light, squinting whenever it drifted into her view. It felt like it was tormenting her: there was a literal lightbulb right above her, but she still hadn’t come up with any ideas.

Cage had been in and out for the last few hours, and Emerson was constantly outside the door, but she hadn’t seen Dante since he’d delivered his ultimatum. She presumed he was at his headquarters, in front of a gaggle of reporters, denouncing his son to maintain his image. 

She was proved right when she heard Cage stomp across to Emerson, shouting about his father, and it was only when Emerson pointed out that if his father didn’t say those things, they’d all go down, that he calmed down. 

By now, almost 48 hours had elapsed, and she knew the police were looking for her, but she had also realised that there was no way Bellamy would be leaving it up to them. She worried about him, tried unsuccessfully to shake the idea of him being injured from her head, and then resigned herself to her anxiety.

It was easier than worrying about her own safety. 

Every time the door opened and she glimpsed Emerson’s seedy grin, her heart would constrict a little more, reminding her that she was closer to being left alone with him. 

_A day_ , she thought to herself, _I have a day to get myself out of here, or for someone to find me. Or I’m going to end up behind a dumpster somewhere, or buried where no-one can find me. Maybe they’ll dredge my body out of the river?_

_Oh god, positive thoughts, Clarke._

Unfortunately, positive thoughts were few and far between when she could feel the clock ticking on the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, you guys, they're getting so close to finding her! She just needs to hang on for a little while longer!
> 
> I hope you're still enjoying my little story, and thank you so much for all the kudos, and I love reading all the comments!
> 
> Come say hello on tumblr! Or don't, I'm not your mum, I can't force you to do anything.


	16. The Good Are Damned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The delinquents formulate a plan and Clarke attempts an escape of her own.

### 

_What a strange, strange world we live in_  
_Where the good are damned and the wicked forgiven_  
_What a strange, strange world we live in_  
_Those who don't have, lose, those who got, get given more_  
  
**The Trapper and the Furrier - Regina Spektor**

  
Two days had passed since Clarke was taken, and in that 48 hours, Bellamy had rallied a whole team of people, been to her house and rifled through her things, met her parents, shouted at his closest friends and slept very little. 

It really felt more like a week, but when he checked the clocks, it was only the 49th hour. 

1am. 

He rolled his shoulders, trying to get the stiffness out, and glanced around.

The rest of his friends had been taking their research in shifts, it seemed – Jasper, Roan and Echo slept while Monty, Raven and Harper looked, and vice versa. Octavia seemed to just be taking fifteen minute naps every four hours, and Wells had been asleep in Monty’s room since before Bellamy had arrived six hours previously. Murphy and Emori were presumably taking turns resting, but he hadn’t asked, and they hadn’t remerged from Jasper’s room since Raven’s outburst.

Currently, Monty, Raven, Harper, Roan and Octavia were all sleeping, while Jasper and Echo were running through something quietly in the corner, and Bellamy was leaning against the sink.

He had to apologise to Wells, he knew that, but he thought he might be able to avoid it for a few more hours. Unfortunately, he woke up.

“Hey,” he said, when Wells shuffled out.

“Hey,” he didn’t even glance at him, opting instead to stare intently at the coffee pot as he filled it. 

Bellamy took a deep breath, “Hey, look, I’m really sorry for what I said. That… that was unfair, I was just bitter and looking for someone to take it out on, and you were right there.”

Wells did look at him then, a weary, sad expression on his face, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean it – you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“I know. You weren’t really talking to me, you were talking to yourself. Same message applies, Bellamy: it’s not your fault.” Wells poured two cups and offered him one. He took it silently, opening and closing his mouth, unsure what to say. 

They sat in silence for a long moment, drinking their coffees, until eventually, Miller entered. The bar must have been busy, because he looked worn out, but as he approached them he perked up. 

“You were right.”

“I usually am. About what?” Bellamy found his voice. 

“The bar’s being watched.” Miller sat down and grabbed his own mug. 

The other two glanced at each other, surprised.

“How do you know?” Wells asked. 

“Two guys came in, never seen them before, came up to the bar and stayed there all night. They alternated between watching me and watching the door.”

“Sure they weren’t just interested, Miller?” Murphy asked, striding into the kitchen. 

“Fairly sure. They were packing heat, and they stayed until I closed, and then I kept an eye on them as they left – they both got in a car but didn’t drive away. The car was still there when I finished locking up and drove over here, so for all I know, they followed me, but I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I think they’re looking for _you_ ,” Miller jerked his head in Bellamy’s direction, “and once they didn’t see you there, their job was over. I drove to Bryan’s for a little while, just in case, but I didn’t see any suspicious vehicles on the street.”

“Never thought you’d have to used ‘I’m being tailed’ as an excuse to see your boyfriend, Miller.” Murphy smirked, and they all chuckled, but there was tension in it. They could joke as much as they wanted, but with what they now knew, safety was a priority. 

“Maybe you should stay with Bryan for a day or so,” Bellamy suggested, “Until this all blows over.”

“Fuck off,” Miller snapped.

“It was just a suggestion, Nate,” he replied coolly.

“No, it was you trying to protect me. Stop trying to save everyone, Bell.”

“I can’t help it, I’m naturally heroic,” he joked, and Miller rolled his eyes and downed the last of his coffee. 

“It must be difficult for you,” he noted teasingly, and Bellamy snorted. 

“Oh yeah, I spend all my time worried about you all, it’s draining,” he clapped back, but that was too close to the truth, and his friends knew it. The three of them looked back at him, eyebrows raised, and he crossed his arms, “Don’t worry, I’m far too worried about Clarke to think about any of you at the moment.”

“Speaking of Clarke,” Raven’s voice rang out, and all of them turned. She must have been conscious for a little while, because her laptop was open, and she was thumbing through a series of documents, wide awake. Her face was more open than it had been for two days, _“I know where she is.”_

* * *

* * *

Clarke had no idea where she was. 

She had thought long and hard about it, and the only thing she’d come up with was that she was in a building. She wished she could take an inconsequential detail and use it to reveal her location, but unfortunately, she wasn’t Sherlock, no matter how many detective novels she read. 

Two days had passed.

She only had one more day to give Dante information before… before Emerson took her and god knows what would happen. 

She had given up escape, for now, letting that problem stew in the back of her mind while she thought about other things. Namely, what exactly she could tell them to keep herself alive. 

She was trying to remember the three letters she had read, combing through what she could remember to see if she could work it out. 

Unfortunately, she was coming up blank.

Dante had remained away, and it had been a few hours since she’d seen anyone, but every now and then she could hear raised voices down the hall, or footsteps by the door.

Her nerves were wearing thinner, and every time a particularly heavy foot hit the floor, she flinched, waiting for the moment that Emerson was going to be alone with her. 

It was made worse by how unsure she was how much time had passed. She only knew based on when she was getting food, and even then, for all she knew, they could be manipulating her. She didn’t believe it, though; for all their posturing, they didn’t actually seem to have a cohesive plan.

Turning against their boss looked improvised, and they must have moved quickly, if Cage had been so sloppy picking her up. She’d only ever seen the three of them, but there could be a whole army on the other side of the wall, for all she knew. 

All she really knew was that her time was ticking, and that she had to know what was in those letters. 

An idea struck her – a stupid, reckless idea, but it was all she had. 

She needed the element of surprise. 

So the next time the little hatch opened to drop her some lunch, she leaned down to yell through it. 

“Hey! Hey, look, I’ll talk. I’ll talk, okay?” She called out, and she heard shuffling outside. She moved back and sat in the chair in the centre of the room, doing her level best to look nervous. 

The door swung open, and Cage and Emerson were both standing over her, the former looking smugger than she’d ever seen him. 

“Oh yeah? Finally willing to cooperate?” He smirked, and she swallowed, trying to keep her expression neutral. 

“Yes. Just… promise you’ll let me go, if I tell you?” She asked, and they shared a look. In that moment, she knew that they’d never intended to keep her alive. She’d suspected as much, but having it confirmed, even as Cage’s face contorted into what he believed to be a comforting smile, was a harder reality to face. 

“Why would we do that, Miss Griffin? You’ll just turn us in.”

“I’ll never turn you in, I swear. I just want to run away and never look back. I’ll change my name, I’ll dye my hair, just _please_ don’t kill me,” she cried, making sure to whimper for good measure. 

“What about your Mr Blake? He’ll never stop looking for us,” Cage snarled, and she shook her head.

“Just… make them think I’m dead. I’ll never contact them. He’ll forget about me soon enough. They all will.”

Cage snorted, “That man ran after a moving car with two stab wounds, I doubt he’ll let it go if it looks like you’re _dead_. He'll probably come after us for revenge.”

Clarke felt as though a bucket of ice water had just been tipped over her head. Her whole body flushed cold, and her heart started beating more erratically. Bellamy had been _stabbed_. She’d been unconscious by the time the van doors closed, she had never seen what happened to him. She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions under control. This plan wouldn’t work if she was distracted. 

“Well then I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him that as long as he doesn’t come after you, I’m safe.” She tried to sound convincing when she said, “Or maybe he’s already… maybe he didn’t survive.”

Cage grinned at her discomfort, “Oh, is that sadness I see? For your precious bartender?”

She said nothing, just glared up at him, and Cage laughed.

“He definitely hasn’t been to a hospital yet. We lost track of him after he left the bar with Miller, so we sent men to check out the ER, and there was no sign of him. He hasn’t been back to the bar either, or his apartment. Maybe he _is_ dead.” He sounded pleased with himself, and Clarke felt her face grow hot. 

Emerson looked excited now and leaned down to press his lips against her ear when he said, “No-one’s coming to save you, Clarke.”

“No, he’s…” She let her head fall forward, resting her chin on her chest as she scrunched her face up. She willed the tears away, but they fell onto her knees. She gripped her hair with both hands, trying to cover her face. 

“Alright, Clarke. If you tell us what we want to know, we’ll let you hide. But we’ll keep an eye on you. You’ll never escape us, Clarke, as long as you live. Better than being dead, though.” Cage said, and she knew he would order Emerson to kill her the second she said a thing. “Bellamy would know.”

She tucked her head down further, wrapping her arms tighter around her head. 

“What do you know, Clarke?”

She said something, muffled, and they both leaned closer.

“Speak up, Clarke,” Cage’s voice was right next to her face, and she already knew how close Emerson was. 

“I said, I know how to get out of here,” she said, and elbowed Emerson in the throat at the same time her left hand grabbed Cage by the hair and slammed him into the metal arm of the chair. 

Cage dropped like stone, blooding gushing from his temple where it had struck the edge.

She sprung to her feet and kicked Emerson in the face. The weight on her chain was heavy, but she leaned into it and used the momentum to fuel the kick. Now not only was he gasping for air, but his face was bleeding, and she wished she had time to enjoy it, but that wasn’t a smart call. She moved to the door, as fast as her cuffs would allow, and swung it shut behind her. 

She could hear Emerson yelling incoherently, getting closer to the door, but she just slammed the deadbolt shut and started walking. 

Her wrists were aching where her cuffs had dug into them, and the ones on her ankles were dragging on the ground, making her slower, but she didn’t stop moving. She couldn’t. 

She had to get those letters and get out of there.

A loud bang went off somewhere behind her, and she sped up – Emerson had a gun and was shooting at the lock. She found a door and shuffled hurriedly through it, pausing only long enough to notice that Cage seemed to have been sleeping in there. There was a couch in the corner with a blanket over it, and a coffee table covered in food in front of it, but otherwise it was as dilapidated as the rest of the place. 

It was bigger than she’d initially thought, and not actually a warehouse. It seemed to be some kind of residential building, or maybe an office block. She noticed a window and peered out of it, estimating that she was about three floors up – so no leaping out to run away. 

If she wanted to get out of there, she was going to have to find an exit. 

She ducked into another room, and then another. 

She was going to get hopelessly lost if she didn’t find something soon. 

The next room she entered had a huge conference table in the centre, and the wall was made of windows, looking out over the harbour. At least she had some idea of where she was now. 

On the conference table there were charts and folders, spread out as if on display, as well as her own cell phone, which was dead. She pocketed it and turned her attention to the papers. Right in the centre were three letters, in handwriting she recognised. 

She sat down at the head of the table and started reading.

> _Clarke,_  
>  _Hey sweetheart. This one’s gonna be short and sweet, I’m afraid, because tonight, Brother Bear and Hothead are helping me cheer Miller up. We’re organising the whole camp, anyone who’ll join in, to have a karaoke night. Even the villagers are joining in._
> 
> _I tried to get Thelonius to come, but he says he’s busy. Busy with what, I can’t imagine – he’s not scheduled to move out for another week – but I digress._  
>  _I loved that sketch you drew of Mom, it’s really helped me through the lonely nights._  
>  _Oh god._  
>  _No._  
>  _Not like that._  
>  _Is it possible to go back in time and unwrite that?_  
>    
>  _Sorry sweetie, but to be fair, I wouldn’t be doing my job as your father if I wasn’t scarring you for life. Tell your mother I miss her. Don’t tell her the other thing._  
>    
>  _Aquaman saw your picture on my phone the other day. I haven’t been showing it around, honestly because you’re a pretty girl and some of these men are… I mean, the group of people I hang out with aren’t like that, but I dunno, sweetie, I think… I think it’s just hard to admit that you’re an adult now, and if I show your picture to these men that are your age, and they talk about you like an adult, I might never be able to think of you as my little girl again._  
>    
>  _It’s a silly fear, which was put to the test when Aquaman saw you._  
>  _All he said was, “Your daughter’s very pretty.”_  
>  _Which actually isn’t too bad, so I think I can cope with it if you tell me you’re engaged now._  
>  _Maybe._  
>    
>  _What’s going on with med school, do you like it so far? How’s Wells? Don’t forget to have fun while you’re saving the world, Clarke._  
>    
>  _I’ve got to go sweetheart, but I’ll write to you as soon as possible, to make up for this woefully short letter, and to make sure you hear all about the hijinks these guys get up to. I’m honestly sad to think that I’m not in their unit, and we might be split up soon. I don’t have a single friend in my unit, except Theo, and even he’s been absent lately._  
>  _I’ll talk to you soon,_  
>  _Dad_

Clarke folded the letter and stuffed it into her pocket. She opened the second one, but another loud noise echoed through the building, and she stood, clutching the letters in her hands. She needed to find a stairwell, and fast.

She sneaking as quietly as possible, her chains making it more difficult, looking for some kind of sign that would point to a way down. 

A loud yell rang out and she flinched. That sounded a lot closer than she wanted it to, and it sounded pained. What if Emerson had already broken the door down?

She rounded a corner and saw the big heavy exit that signified a stairwell, so she darted into it. She had to be very careful going down the stairs with the weight on her legs, so she slowly lowered one leg at a time, leaning against the railing. Once she reached the second floor, she couldn’t contain her curiosity anymore. She yanked open the second letter and started to read it as she moved.

> _Clarke,_  
>  _Something’s really not right here, sweetheart. Thelonius has become really withdrawn, and all those suspicious phone calls are starting to make sense._  
>  _I wish it didn’t, though. I wish that Theo’s behaviour was nothing to do with the shady shit my unit seems to be doing, but I don’t think that wish is coming true._  
>  _I found evidence that men in my unit are stealing from the villages they are stationed in, and from the destroyed villages and homes around us, wherever they go. It’s despicable, and I’m not sure what to do about it._  
>  _Thelonius is involved, I’m sure of it._  
>  _I don’t know what the best course of action is here, Clarke. Do I keep my head down and alert someone when I get back? More people could lose their valuables in that time. Not to mention the violence – some of the ‘attacks’ on our unit when men are stationed elsewhere overnight seem to have been staged to give them an excuse to steal. Hurting innocent people to gain more money._  
>  _It’s not right._  
>  _It’s not why I joined the army, Clarke._  
>  _At least I know that unit three isn’t involved. I mentioned it to Miller, and he looked horrified at the very idea. He made sure to tell me that his friends would never do it either, not in a million years, and I believe him._  
>  _They’re good kids, Clarke. They want to do some good in the world, and they’re getting screwed._  
>  _Because we’re not doing any good._  
>  _We’re just helping the people doing bad things look more innocent._  
>  _I have to say something, Clarke, even if it doesn’t make a difference._  
>  _I have to say something to Thelonius._  
>  _I’m sure he’s better than this._  
>  _I’m sure of it._  
>  _I love you sweetheart,_  
>  _Dad_  
> 

When she’d finished the second letter, she immediately started on the third, eyes scanning rapidly down the page as she took in what he was saying, trying to make sense of it.

Clarke hadn’t even noticed that she’d reached the first floor until she ran out of steps and stepped down extra hard onto solid floor. She flinched and shoved the letters in her pocket, trying to shake off the horrible panic that was engulfing her. She snuck through the hallways, ducking through different rooms trying to find the entrance. 

She’d just snuck through what used to be a photocopy room, when something hard barrelled into her. 

She hit the floor and started struggling immediately, but Emerson was too big and he already had the upper hand: he was on top of her, pressing her into the ground. His weight was on her arms, and with the cuffs, she couldn’t pull them apart enough to get them out from under him. 

His breath tore across her face and she almost gagged at the mix of alcohol, cigarettes and blood that it gave off, burning her eyes. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Griffin. You’re all mine!” He hissed in her eyes, hands around her throat, and she started to see spots. 

“Get off me!” She choked out, and he laughed, a harsh, angry noise that cut through to her bones.

He pulled at her shirt, ripping it, and she felt the air against her chest.

“We’re just getting started.” He started undoing his belt with one hand, the other still around her neck, and she struggled harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger, guys!  
> Thank you so much for reading! You brighten my day!  
> Feel free to hit me up on tumblr, I'm talistheintrovert there too...


	17. Head Off To The War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The delinquents storm the building where Clarke is being held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I'm not just splitting between Clarke and Bellamy's perspective, I'll be switching multiple perspectives. Don't worry, it's super clear when it's a new person - two lines, same as when I switch between Clarke and Bellamy - and for most of the rest of this story, it goes back to just the two of them, with one notable exception. 
> 
> I worked really hard on it, so I hope you enjoy it!

### 

_It started out as a feeling_  
_Which then grew into a hope_  
_Which then turned into a quiet thought_  
_Which then turned into a quiet word_  
_And then that word grew louder and louder_  
_'Til it was a battle cry_  
_I'll come back_  
_When you call me_  
_No need to say goodbye_  
  
**The Call - Regina Spektor**

Raven was in the car. She hated being in the car, but she knew her leg would slow them down, so when Bellamy suggested it, she didn’t argue.

Luckily, Wells was also in the car. Bellamy had recommended that he stay back at the apartment, but he had kicked up such a fuss that he ended up being allowed to stay, as long as he helped Raven. This turned out to be an entirely unnecessary instruction, because Raven did not need his help.

They were all wearing earpieces, and her laptop was on her knees, the feeds from all the nearby security cameras playing on it. There were no cameras in the building, but there were some in the docks, and the nearest ones could see through some of the windows. 

She hijacked them, and zoomed in, tracking up the floors, trying to work out which one they’d be on. They had seven levels to choose from, and if she got it wrong and they made themselves known too soon, or spread themselves too thin, Clarke was screwed. 

“Raven, what have you got?” Bellamy’s voice rang out through the speakers and she winced. 

“Nothing yet, no movement, except for the four guards on the perimeter.”

“We can’t wait much longer. I say we go in, sweep the first floor. You keep looking at the others, and if we find nothing, we’ll move up.”

“Good idea.” Raven said, typing something into her laptop. A blueprint came up, “There are stairs on the east corner and the west, and there’s an elevator on the south wall, but it doesn’t look like it’s in use. The bottom floor is where the reception used to be, so it’s more open. It shouldn’t take long to search.”

“Echo, follow me.” Bellamy ordered quietly. 

“Copy that,” Echo said, “I’m on your six, Bell.”

“Roan, you take the east, bring Murphy and Emori with you.”

“Miller, take the north, and Octavia and Lincoln on the south.”

Raven pressed her lips together in concentration and started switching camera angles, trying to work out which floor her best friend was on.

* * *

* * *

Jasper had been bitter when Bellamy told him to stay at home, but Monty and Harper looked relieved. They were listening to the same comms that Raven was, playing through the TV, but they were safe, far away from the action. 

The first thing Bellamy had said when Raven announced that she knew where Clarke was being held, was, “Jasper, can you make grenades?”

Jasper had laughed, “Of course I can. What kind do you need?”

“Flash, stun, anything as long as it can do some damage. I don’t want the building collapsing around our ears though, Jordan. _Small_ bombs. Just enough to give us an advantage.”

“You suck the fun out of everything,” Jasper had grinned, and immediately disappeared into the kitchen.

Bellamy had laid out the plan for the rest of them, and once Jasper had made enough grenades for all of them, they started to file out.

Monty and Harper had offered to help, but Bellamy shook his head, “No, I need you two safe. You’ve done more than enough, trawling through that case. I can’t risk you getting caught in the crossfire.”

“What if you get caught in the crossfire?” Harper snapped, frustrated, and he’d pulled her into a hug.

“Raven’s set up the feed to your TV, so you can see everything she sees, and you’ll be able to hear us. Two hours. If something goes wrong, you have to wipe everything – we can’t have them coming after you too.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Bellamy,” Harper’s voice was tight, and he shook his head.

“No I didn’t.” Then he left, leaving only silence in his wake.

* * *

* * *

Miller, Octavia and Lincoln were the first onto the second floor. The first floor had been cleared quickly, Miller, Roan, Echo and Bellamy each body-slamming a guard into a wall. 

Once the men were unconscious, they didn’t find anything else on the ground, and they were close to the same set of stairs when they called it.

They split up quickly, Miller moving back to the north and the other two sliding off into the shadows at the south wall. 

"So, Big Brother, are we ever going to talk about the fact that you're in love with Clarke?" Octavia's voice was smug, probably because she knew that all of their friends could hear them.

"Do you _really_ think this is the time?" He growled back.

"Fine," Octavia snapped, "but we are talking about your major case of denial when this is over."

Miller was trying really hard not to agree with Octavia - he wanted to stick up for his friend, but she wasn't wrong - and she wasn't the first person to notice. Luckily, there was a muffled noise above them that might have been plumbing, but it was enough to distract everyone.

He spied Bellamy through a doorway and shook his head. 

“There’s nothing here,” he said, and he could hear everyone’s murmur of agreement down the comm-line.

“Third floor – I see movement on the third floor!” Raven yelled.

“Lincoln and I are already on the third floor – we were by the stairs and heard a really loud noise, so we ran up, but now we’re not sure where exactly it came from. It echoed.” Octavia whispered.

“What kind of noise?” Miller asked, darting quickly towards the stairs himself. 

“I don’t know, like a bang, or something hitting metal.” Octavia muttered. 

“Alright, everyone up a story,” Bellamy ordered, but Miller was already halfway up the stairs. He was creeping along the hallway when he heard something move behind him. 

He turned to look, but there was nothing there. 

That was odd. For a moment there, he thought he’d heard something shuffling.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy had come up with the plan, and Murphy had to admit, it was a good one. 

“Murphy, bring Dax with us. When we get there and find the others, take one of their guns and shoot him – it needs to look like _they_ did it, not us.” Bellamy had said, and Murphy flashed him a grin in lieu of saying anything.

He’d been waiting five years to kill Dax, and now that the day was here, he felt oddly disappointed. Not because he didn’t want to do it – he did – but because he wanted more time to torture him first. 

People like Dax disgusted him more than anything; people who gamed the system and then profited off it, leaving nothing but chaos and pain in their wake. 

He couldn’t kill the man that caused his father’s death, but he could kill Dax with no consequences, and that would have to be good enough. 

Now, he and Emori were dragging Dax’s unconscious, limp body down a long corridor, traipsing behind Roan, who was edging strategically around every corner. Murphy had been almost surprised at how willing Emori had been to help them, and initially thought it might just be for Clarke, because they were friends, or even for him. But he realised quickly that Emori was there for herself as well. She’d been wronged countless times, made to feel tiny and worthless, and seeing someone else treated that way had awoken something in her. 

She was alert, staring around them carefully as though waiting for a threat to leap out at any minute. 

In that moment, creeping through the dark on the third floor of an abandoned office building in the harbour, John Murphy knew he was in love with Emori.

Just as that notion struck him, Roan held up a fist, and they stopped. He frowned, confused, until he realised what made Roan freeze – there was a faint banging coming from somewhere up ahead. 

They all looked at each other, nodded, and then slowly started moving forward.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy and Echo were the closest to where the loud noises were coming from, and they started heading directly towards it, traipsing down the corridor. They met a section when it diverted and the noises had stopped, making it impossible to tell which one to choose, so they split up.

Echo went left and he went right, only to find an empty room. He turned back, but he heard a door open and then he heard Echo cry out. 

He broke into a run, but by the time he reached her, the attacker had vanished. Echo was on the ground, bleeding heavily from her arm where the man had struck her. 

“Emerson,” she gasped out, and he looked around, noticing the unconscious Cage Wallace on the floor. No Clarke. Echo pushed herself up just as Roan, Murphy and Emori arrived.

“We’ve got this Bellamy, go get him,” Murphy said earnestly.

He leapt up and sprinted in the direction she was pointing, listening for the sounds of movement. 

A huge bang went off, and a blinding flash of light filled his vision. He blinked frantically, trying to regain his bearings, and then he felt something fall on him. It was _Miller_ who’d just thrown a flash grenade, and Miller who’d landed on top of him when he was shoved.

He could see Emerson’s silhouette running haphazardly away from them, and he pulled one of his own grenades out and launched it down the hallway. It ricocheted off a wall and exploded against the floor, blowing a hole the size of a watermelon in it. 

He needed to have a talk with Jasper about his definition of the word ‘small’. 

On the plus side, it seemed to have slowed Emerson down slightly, and he could hear the yelp of pain from where he was lying, crushed under his friend. Miller pushed himself up, but he was holding his head. 

“Emerson had me pinned, so I threw the grenade. Then he threw me.”

“S’okay,” Bellamy mumbled and shot to his feet, “stay here, I’ll get him.”

“Bellamy he’s on the east stairs, I have a visual. He’s running down the east stairwell. He’s almost at the second floor.”

He heard the unmistakeable thumping of feet on stairs and headed for them, Raven’s voice guiding him, jumping three steps at a time.

“He’s on the bottom floor, my visual is scrappy, but there was movement down there a minute ago, so either Clarke’s down there too…”

“Or he’s got backup,” Bellamy finished for her. 

“I don’t know which is worse,” Raven said, and he couldn’t help but agree. 

When he reached the first floor, he crept through the office kitchen, and he realised he could hear the sounds of a scuffle. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Griffin. You’re all mine!” That must be Emerson’s voice. He burst through the nearest door, finding a photocopy room.

“Get off me!” Clarke’s voice sounded strange, but closer, and he moved towards it.

“We’re just getting started.” Emerson’s voice was oily, dripping ugly enthusiasm, and Bellamy felt his heart miss more than a few beats. He had to get to her. 

He kicked open the next door, and the scene before him almost made his heart give up altogether. 

Clarke was on the floor, Emerson’s hand around her throat. He was straddling her, pinning her arms, and he was undoing his belt with his other hand. Her shirt was torn nearly in half, revealing almost everything, and her jeans were ripped where she’d fallen. There was a weight hanging on a chain between her legs and Clarke was struggling, kicking out at nothing, desperately trying to escape. Emerson managed to unhook his belt buckle, and Clarke gasped for air.

Bellamy saw red.

He grabbed Emerson’s hair and yanked him up and off her, slamming him into the nearest wall. He recovered quickly, stumbling up towards them, and Bellamy punched him in the face, hard. 

“You don’t fucking _touch_ her, you hear me?” He snarled, backing Emerson into the photocopy room.

“Aw, pissed off that I got further with her than you ever will?” Even when he was being backed into a corner, Emerson wanted the last word. 

Bellamy swung and he ducked. 

“ _I’m going to kill you_.” Bellamy growled, and for the third time in his life, he truly meant it. 

Emerson hit back, catching his chest. He felt some of his stitches burst but he kicked with his good leg and caught Emerson in the side of the knee. He felt it buckle, and then Emerson was on the floor, looking up at him furiously, but with a tiny hint of fear. He was more rattled in his fighting style now that he knew he was losing. Bellamy couldn’t help the flicker of delight he felt at the expression of the other man. 

Another fist hit his side, and he barely felt it this time. 

He swung his arm with all the force he could possibly muster and when it hit Emerson’s nose, it was more satisfying than breaking Finn’s. He was holding the man up with a handful of his shirt, using the other to beat him, fist raining down on Emerson’s face with no hope of letting up. 

Octavia and Lincoln appeared through the door in front of him, and they both stared at him in shock. He couldn’t blame them. His knuckles were dripping blood, and there was a fiery rage in his eyes. He didn’t acknowledge them when they looked past him to where he was sure Clarke was still lying. He realised that everyone must be able to hear him over the comms, which meant the rest of them would be there soon too. 

“Bellamy, that’s enough,” Octavia said softly, but he just punched down again. 

“He’s still breathing,” Bellamy couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, “So I’d say it’s not enough yet.”

Octavia and Lincoln shared and a look, and he stepped forward, “Bellamy, I can’t book him if he’s dead. Besides, I already called for backup, so when the police arrive in ten minutes, I’d rather not have to tell them to arrest you too.”

He hit him again. 

“He deserves it.” He shouted, but it was wilder now, more unhinged, and the deadly calm that came with his rage was subsiding, replaced with the panic he felt when he saw Clarke on the floor. 

“Yeah he does, but _you don’t_.” Lincoln said steadily, and his arm froze, still hovering in the air above Emerson’s barely recognizable face. 

Before he knew what was happening, there were arms encircling his waist, and he was being pulled backwards away from the man. When he released his shirt, Emerson fell sideways, saved from hitting the floor by Lincoln, who held him up long enough to cuff him, but Bellamy didn’t care. 

Clarke was holding him tightly from behind, her chin pressed between his shoulder blades, and he let his fingers fall to her, wrapping them around her wrists. He pulled her off him just enough so that he could turn around, and then she snapped them back to his sides, pulling him close. He hugged her back, tighter than he’d ever thought possible. 

He buried his face into her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her hair, and he didn’t care for a second that she hadn’t showered in days, because she was in his arms and she was safe. He decided he would never let her go – if they stood in this abandoned reception for the rest of eternity, he could be perfectly content – as long as she was safe. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” Clarke was repeating into his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or her own. 

He let one of his hands slide up into her hair, cupping the side of her head. He tugged at it gently, and she tipped her head up to look at him, so he could inspect her like she usually did to him. 

There were tears in her eyes, and she looked like she hadn’t slept. 

But she was alive. 

A bruise was forming on her neck, and there was a low wheeze when she breathed.

But she was alive. 

Her shirt was hanging affectedly off her right shoulder, only held up by his own arm against her ribs, and the torn fabric was just another reminder of close it had been, of what would have happened if he’d been just a minute too late. 

But she was alive.

“I’m okay,” Clarke murmured again, but she sounded less certain now, staring up at him hopelessly, and he gathered her close.

“You’re okay, you’re alive, you’re okay,” he took up the mantra for her, and she fell quiet, burrowing her face into his chest while he stroked her back. 

He felt her crying before he heard it. Her shoulders rocked and her palms scrunched against his torso, and he just kept whispering to her, even when he heard more of their friends run in behind them. Clarke didn’t seem to notice, she was so anguished – she just cried harder, and he could hear it now: stuttering, painful sobs vibrating through his sternum and making his ears burn. God, he would do anything to make that noise stop, anything to make it better. 

“Jesus Christ, Bellamy,” Raven said, and he realised that it wasn’t in his comms. He glanced over his shoulder to see that _everyone_ was there, staring between the unconscious husk of a man in Lincoln’s cuffs and Bellamy, their expressions mixed. Shock, awe, worry, horror, relief – all emotions that he was feeling in that moment, reflected in the faces of his friends. 

He didn’t say anything, he just kept holding Clarke. 

“Ambulance is on its way,” Wells said, phone against his ear. 

“For who?” Murphy remarked sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at the scene before them.

“Bellamy, obviously,” Miller retorted, “he’s bleeding onto the concrete.”

Clarke pulled back immediately, sparing enough time to look up at him in horror before pulling his shirt up and inspecting his stab wound. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” he tried, but the expression on her face was warning him not to try and brush it off. 

“You’re _not_ fine, Bellamy,” she snapped, “You’ve been stabbed, and the stitches have ruptured, badly, so if you don’t get medical attention, and soon, you’re going to bleed out.”

“What about you, Princess?” He murmured, tilting her chin up to study her throat.

“I’ll live, unlike you,” she said sharply, and he managed a dry chuckle. Her expression softened, “I’ll live, _thanks_ to you.”

There was a moment where everything fell away and it was just the two of them, taking each other in, her fingertips warm against his ribs, his hand still in her hair. 

“Don’t forget the rest of us, Griffin,” Murphy called out. “We helped!”

She snapped her gaze over Bellamy’s shoulder and the moment was over. But when she walked towards them, she captured his hand as it trailed off her head and down her shoulder, holding it tightly to her side for a second before moving away. 

“I know,” she said, “Thank you all, so much. I can’t believe you came after me.”

“Can’t you?” Wells asked softly, and she ran up to him, hugging him enthusiastically. Bellamy watched her, relief washing over him in waves, but his chest was throbbing painfully and his leg didn’t feel like it was in great shape either. He leaned heavily against the wall.

* * *

* * *

There were sirens in the distance, getting closer, and Lincoln was starting to case the scene, make sure their story checked out. 

Everyone was running up, one by one, to hug Clarke, and with each embrace, she felt a little more like herself, and a little less afraid. 

“Jasper’s screaming in my ear telling me to tell you that he loves you,” Raven paused a moment and rolled her eyes, “and Monty and Harper. We all love you.”

“Even Murphy? But he doesn’t like anyone!” Clarke joked, but Murphy’s expression was serious when he gripped her tight.

“Shut up Clarke, you know you’re my favourite,” he said, and he must have been serious, because even Emori was nodding, no hint of amusement in her eyes. Clarke opened her mouth to retort but Murphy got there first, “and don’t even pretend that I’m yours – we all know who _your_ favourite is.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed. 

Two people she vaguely recognised stepped forward, the tall man's hand outstretched. She took it, and a flirtatious smile crossed his lips, "It's nice to meet you, finally. And may I say, you're even prettier in person."

Clarke suddenly remembered where she'd seen them before - the photo Bellamy had shown her. 

"Ah, you're Aquaman!"

Roan laughed heartily, "You really are your father's daughter, aren't you?"

He looked like he was going to say something else, but the woman beside him held out her own hand, "Ignore Roan, he just wants to sleep with you."

"You must be Echo," Clarke said, smiling. She didn't fail to notice that Echo was holding herself funny, one arm tucked carefully into her side, or the way Roan was pretending not to glance worriedly at her.

"Bellamy was right. I can see why he cares about you so much," Echo said thoughtfully, and Clarke tilted her head quizzically. Echo seemed as though she were about to elaborate, when Bellamy slid down the wall behind Clarke. Murphy’s eyes widened as he looked past her and she had barely turned her head to see what the noise was, when he grabbed her and dragged her over to him.

He was sitting on the floor, hand over his injury, blood seeping through his fingers, and he was drifting in and out of consciousness. 

“Sorry, Princess,” Bellamy murmured, his eyes closed.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Bellamy,” she whispered back, pressing her hands over his to put pressure on the wound. His red-soaked thumb brushed over her knuckles, and his head lolled back. “Bellamy? Hey, _stay with me!_ ”

“I’m trying,” he breathed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids. 

“Ambulance is outside,” Raven said urgently, just as red and blue lights started illuminating the room, “Police are here too.”

“Good, I’ll go with Bell, make sure he’s alright,” Clarke said, but Lincoln was shaking his head. 

“No, Miss Griffin, you have to come with us – we need your statement, and I need to explain to my boss why I was involved in a covert mission to rescue a kidnapped girl in a different city. I’ll need you for that.”

She gritted her teeth, but she knew it was the right call, “You must be Lincoln – it’s nice to meet you face to face, finally. You always sounded nice on the phone.”

Bellamy’s brow furrowed, his eyes still tamped shut, “why am I not surprised that you spoke to him before I did?”

“Because you know your sister well enough to know that when she gets a boyfriend, you’re the last to know,” Clarke replied, and he breathed out in a huff that could have been a laugh. 

Wells led the paramedics into the room, and there were officers trailing behind them. Clarke kept her hand pressed over Bellamy’s as they lifted him onto a stretcher and waved the policemen off, telling them she would be back in a moment and then they could take her to the station. She kept a careful eye on Bellamy’s pulse frantically beating in his neck, telling the medics what she knew of his injuries while she walked with them to the ambulance. She brushed his hair back from his face with her free hand, and he flinched slightly. 

“I’ll go with him,” Miller’s voice said from behind her, and she nodded, but kept her gaze on Bellamy. He stepped up into the van and sat down, “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“You call me. If anything happens, you _call me_ ,” she ordered. 

"I will, I swear." He nodded. 

She straightened, “and I want updates about his condition every hour.”

“I’ll text you.”

“Good,” she said, trying not to think about how much of Bellamy’s blood was on her fingers.

“He’ll be fine,” Miller said reassuringly. 

“I mean it, Nate,” Clarke said, stepping off the car and shutting one of the doors, “the second you know anything.”

She could have sworn she heard Miller mumble, " _I've heard that before._ " 

She closed the other door and watched as the ambulance spirited away down the road, lights flashing ominously. She spun on her heel and when she reached her friends again, she was ready, letters in hand. 

“I’ll need to read these over again,” she held them up, “but I know who’s behind all this.”

“So do we,” Raven stepped to her side, laptop under her arm.

The officer in front of them crossed his arms sullenly, “Alright then. Why don’t you accompany me back to the station and we can get all this sorted out.”

* * *

She’d been in the breakroom for hours. They’d tried to put her in one of the interrogation rooms, but Lincoln had helpfully pointed out that putting a woman who’d spent the last three days trapped in a tiny room wasn’t exactly a genius move. 

All the same, she still felt trapped. She still hadn't showered, or even properly washed her hands, and Bellamy's blood had dried under her fingernails, which made her heart stop every time she looked at them. Someone accompanied her to the toilet, she wasn’t allowed outside, and officers kept ducking in and out of the room with excess questions. They were just talking in circles now, and Clarke needed to check her phone, but someone had taken it so they could check it for evidence two hours ago, and she hadn’t seen it since. 

She needed to know if Bellamy was okay, and she just prayed that if someone rang, they would tell her. 

It was 9am on a bright, balmy Sunday, and she knew that the rest of the world was just continuing on as normal out there, but her whole world felt off kilter. The police had brough her in at half past 5 in the morning, the sun barely over the horizon, and she just wanted to go home. She'd spent enough time in unfamiliar surroundings.

Captain Creek herself had been overseeing her for the last hour, and what a truly commanding presence she had. Clarke felt more than a little intimidated, although Creek gave her no reason to be – she sat at the back of the room, occasionally nodding and interjecting in the questioning. Clarke had always liked her, having met her at a few of Marcus’s mayoral dos, but she was almost a different person in uniform. Her hair was curly, wild and thick, but she’d pulled it back and under her cap, the only hint of its true nature being the stray curls around her ears. She was sitting up straight, and although she gave off the appearance of being relaxed, it was quite clear that Creek was in full control.

While Clarke was a little nervous, she wasn’t shy enough to shut her mouth when one of the officers came back to ask yet another inane question about who she’d seen. Instead of answering, she rolled her eyes.

“Why am I here?” She asked the man, and he opened his mouth to reply, but his boss got there first.

“You were kidnapped, Miss Griffin,” Creek said coolly, “we tend to want to make sure such a thing won’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again – can I go now?”

“You’re feisty, aren’t ya?” The officer said, and Clarke raised an eyebrow, ready to bite back, almost expecting the captain to take the man’s side. Rather than agreeing, however, Creek cleared her throat at him and he shrunk back. 

“Feisty isn’t the word I’d use Derrick. In fact, I think it is perfectly understandable that a woman who’s just escaped from being locked up feels a little cooped up in a small room that she isn’t allowed to leave. It doesn’t matter how many cups of coffee or plates of food we offer, Derrick, Miss Griffin feels trapped, and it does not reflect well on you to mock a distressed woman.”

“No, you’re right Captain, I apologise.”

“I’m not sure why you’re apologising to me, Derrick, it’s Miss Griffin that you’ve insulted.”

“I am sorry, Miss Griffin, if I have offended you,” he said guiltily.

“Sure,” Clarke said in response, and he shrugged and turned to leave, the door halfway open when a harsh voice cut through the air, and Clarke’s head whipped around, searching for its source. 

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” Abbigail Griffin was standing in the doorway, Marcus at her side, frowning at the scene before her. Once their eyes met, however, her expression softened. 

“Madam, we’re not finished,” Derrick protested. 

“Oh yes you are,” Marcus interjected, “You’ve been finished for quite some time now, you’re just waiting to see if she lets anything slip about the people who did your job for you, and rescued her. You want to see if you can get them on anything illegal so that the police force doesn’t look quite so inept. Unfortunately, you won’t get any evidence from my daughter – she’s a lot more grateful to those people than she is to you, and that’s unlikely to change. So if you’re waiting for her to fold and rat them out, then this interview is over.”

Derrick’s face went red, and in his hurry to reply, tripped over about forty different angry responses before he finally gave up, glowering silently towards his captain in the hopes she’d back him up. 

Captain Creek didn’t look even remotely fazed by Marcus’s speech, and in fact looked somewhat amused; there was what looked like the ghost of a smile on her face, and she’d relaxed slightly since they’d entered. She even sounded sincere when she said, “Always a pleasure to see you Marcus.”

He nodded at her, “Likewise, Luna, although I’d be a lot happier if you were releasing Clarke.”

“Of course,” Luna said, waving her arm, and Derrick begrudgingly stepped away from the door – a clear sign that Clarke was free to go. 

“Thank you, Captain,” Clarke said gratefully. Luna waved her arm at Derrick and he took the cue to leave the room. 

“Luna,” Creek said noncommittally, “and honestly I only kept you here this long because I was concerned about the people on my payroll.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the longer I kept you here, the more it appeared as if I thought there was more to this case than was immediately obvious. So I kept an eye on my officers – which of them were taking unusual breaks, which were taking a particular interest in your being here – and added them to the list.”

“Of?” Marcus asked.

“Suspects,” Luna said, “Clarke and Raven were right – there have to be people here on the payroll of that organisation. I promise you, my police force is not so inept that it can’t do the work of a group of people in their mid-twenties with no resources, no matter how determined.”

“You were using me as bait,” Clarke sounded impressed.

“Not bait, but I do always say you should catch more flies with vinegar, and you are disruptive and bitter, so you fit perfectly.”

“Shouldn’t you catch more flies with honey?” Marcus asked, smiling knowingly – they’d obviously had discussions like this before. 

“That’s the expression, but no – flies are more likely caught in vinegar.”

“How many flies have you caught?”

“By my count, six, but to be fair, one of them could just have a drug problem.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Interrogate them, of course,” Luna stood, but before she had a chance to say anything else, Raven burst into the room.

“Someone tried to tamper with the investigation!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I set up an alert – if anyone messes with the case, or tries to bury anything, all the information I have gets automatically sent to every news outlet. I can’t very well do it manually if I’m in the middle of being interrogated, can I?” Raven looked beyond proud of herself, bursting with excitement and apprehension.

“So how do you–”

Raven switched on the TV and the very first thing that came up was a flashing news bulletin. 

**** ****

** DIANA SYDNEY ORCHESTRATED GRIFFIN KIDNAPPING – EVIDENCE LEAKED! **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! 
> 
> We're coming up to the end now, but don't worry, the drama isn't even CLOSE to over yet.


	18. Perpetually Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and her mother finally reconcile, and Bellamy recovers in hospital.

### 

_I am_  
_In a room I've built myself_  
_Four straight walls_  
_One floor_  
_One ceiling_  
_And day after day, I wake up feeling_  
_Day after way feeling, feeling_  
_Potentially lovely_  
_Perpetually human_  
_Suspended and open_  
  
**Open - Regina Spektor**

> _Clarke_  
>  _I don’t have a lot of time._  
>  _Jaha’s going to try and kill me._  
>  _I overheard him on the phone to Sydney – it’s not a place, it’s a person: DIANA SYDNEY. The Sergeant Major of the army – she’s one of the highest ranking military officers in the world, and she’s using her power to hurt thousands of innocent people, and all for what? Profit?_  
>  _It’s disgusting._  
>  _She’s behind all of this, and Jaha knows that I know. She ordered him to kill me, and I actually think he’s going to go through with it._  
>  _I’m going to do my best to get out of this, to talk to Theo, but if I can't…_  
>  _I need you to tell your mother that I love her._  
>  _I need you to tell Marcus that I love him._  
>  _And I need you to keep going, Clarke. I need you to be okay. I need you to promise me that you’re going to be okay. Talk to your friends, don’t lose sight of your art, fall in love – just live your life, sweetheart._  
>  _I’ve got to cut this letter short – I can’t have Thelonius catch me writing it – but I love you Clarke._  
>  _I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and the only possible legacy I ever want to leave. You’re incredible, and don’t ever forget it._  
>  _You’re going to do incredible things one day, I know it._  
>  _I love you, Clarke._

The letter ended on those words, and Abby looked up at Clarke, who was hovering near her, pacing up and down and chewing her bottom lip. Once Luna had left the room to take charge of her police force, Marcus, Abby, Raven and Clarke had been left alone in the breakroom. Clarke had walked wordlessly up to her mother and thrust the letters into her arms. It was only when she finished the last one, however, that she realised why Clarke looked so distraught.  


“Oh Clarke,” Abby said softly.

“He tried… He tried to tell me, years ago, and I never even opened the letter!” She started hyperventilating as she paced, “I could have ended all of this. None of this had to happen. I could have prevented this, if I had just stopped being a coward! Oh god, _Bellamy_ … Bellamy could die, and that’s _my fault_.” Clarke’s voice cracked slightly, and she leaned against the nearest table for support.

“No,” Abby stood up and handed the letter to Marcus, approaching her daughter carefully, “No, Clarke it’s not your fault.”

Clarke scoffed bitterly, “Yes, it is!”

“No, it isn’t. There was absolutely no way of knowing that these letters contained evidence of any kind – we didn’t know that anything else was even going on! If there had been any reason to suspect that those letters had evidence, the lawyers would have subpoenaed them.”

Clarke was wringing her hands together, staring at the ground, and Abby gently wrapped her fingers around her daughter’s wrists. Clarke’s eyes flicked up and met hers, and then both of them were crying. 

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I blamed you for so long…” Clarke sobbed. 

“No, sweetheart, I should have been there for you, I should have been better.” When Abby pulled her in for a hug, Clarke gripped her like she used to as a child – tight and frantic – and pressed her face into her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke sniffled into her shirt, and she wasn’t apologising to just Abby anymore. She was apologising to her father, and Wells, and Bellamy. She was shouldering all the blame, for everything that had happened, and Abby knew that for the moment there was nothing she could said to dissuade her of the notion. So instead of starting an argument, she held her daughter out at arms-length and held her gaze authoritatively. 

“You can be sorry later. Right now, you just need to give these letters to Captain Creek, and recover from being kidnapped, and go see Bellamy. You can be sorry when you have time to be sorry.”

Clarke felt vaguely irritated at herself, she knew her mother was right - it wasn’t helpful to be self-pitying, and it wasn’t helpful to just be sorry: she had to do something about it.

The police station had become a violent flurry of activity after the news broke about Diana Sydney. Luna had sprung into action, ordering people around, and the rest of the officers seemed to be in chaos; all of them suspecting each other of being the leak. 

None of them had to know that it was Raven. In fact, Luna had made sure they didn’t, announcing to the precinct that she’d find the leak no matter what, which exacerbated the panic. 

The four of them had been sitting in the breakroom for some time, but now that the fire had been ignited in Clarke, she was ready to get out of there and start helping. 

“Griffin, get over here,” Raven called. She was standing by the door, looking out into the bullpen, and she was grinning like a maniac, “you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Clarke darted to her side. She wasn’t wrong. 

The sight of Dante Wallace and Carl Emerson in handcuffs, being led through the precinct in shame, was a welcome one.

Raven slid her arm around Clarke’s waist and they leaned against each other as they watched the two men being jeered at by the officers and led to holding cells. 

Dante was in a suit: he must have been at his office when they arrested him. He noticed Clarke, and it seemed to dawn on him that there was no escaping this. He was going to jail for kidnapping. He was doing his best to look unfazed, but it was the same expression he’d worn when he told Clarke she only had 48 to tell him what she knew – fear. 

Emerson looked up as he was led away and met her eyes. He still had that terrifying gaze, but Clarke wasn’t affected by it anymore. Not now that the sneer came from a face that was barely recognisable it was so swollen. It looked like they’d cleaned him up a little, but there was still his own blood on his clothes, and at least one of his injuries was going to leave a scar. He limped, wincing every time the cop tugged on his handcuffs, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction. He was the one about to be locked up now, and he deserved every bit of pain that came his way. 

Cage Wallace had been taken to the hospital to treat his concussion, with armed guards at every door. There was no chance of escape.

Clarke was safe. 

“She’s gone!” An officer burst into the bullpen, disturbing the procession.

Luna looked up from her discussion, “What?”

“Diana Sydney, ma’am – she’s vanished.”

“What do you mean, vanished?”

“Officers were sent to her workplace, her home, hell, even her favourite coffee shop, and couldn’t find her. We have an alert at all train stations and airports in the area, and there are traffic blockades going up, but it’s beginning to look like Ms Sydney was tipped off. She could be as far away as Polis by now.”

“Goddammit!” Luna slammed a fist down on the filing cabinet beside her, and Clarke was surprised at the sudden outburst from the usually stoic woman. It made sense though: not only was Diana Sydney an incredibly well-connected criminal that Luna was dying to get behind bars, but now that the press had caught wind of it, it had become a high-profile case. The whole police force was under public scrutiny now.

“You alright?” Marcus said quietly from behind her, and she nodded, not looking at him. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“They’ll catch her,” he said reassuringly. 

She didn’t respond, just watched as Dante and Emerson were finally dragged around the corner and out of her view.

Luna barked some orders and most of the officers in the bullpen scattered hastily as she walked towards them. She was holding something outstretched, and it took a moment for Clarke to realise that it was her phone. 

“It’s charged now, so you can call your friend in the hospital,” Luna said kindly, and Clarke thanked her gratefully. 

She unlocked it and started scrolling through her messages immediately.

> **MILLER 7:13am:**  
>  _Bellamy’s apparently doing fine, they’ve confined me to the waiting room._
> 
> **MILLER 7:52am:**  
>  _They’ve wheeled him into a room, but he isn’t allowed visitors yet._
> 
> **MILLER 7:58am:**  
>  _Octavia and Lincoln have just arrived. Octavia is trying to bully the nurse into letting us in._
> 
> **MILLER 8:06am:**  
>  _And it worked. Octavia’s worried, but I spoke to the nurse. He’s unconscious but she said he’s gonna be okay. I’ll sit right by his side until you get here._
> 
> **MILLER 8:07:**  
>  _Are you okay?_
> 
> **MILLER 8:35am:**  
>  _Monty, Jasper, Harper, Murphy and Emori all just arrived. They said you’re still stuck being questioned and that you don’t have your phone. Don’t panic too much – Blake is fine._
> 
> **MILLER 8:59am:**  
>  _He’s mumbling your name in his sleep. Even while unconscious he manages to be worried about you. God, you’re as bad as each other._

Clarke felt as though she’d been holding her breath, and now, with her phone in her hands, it was being released in a rush. She felt better than she had done for days – days that felt like eternities.

> **JASPER THE WIZARD 9:02am:**  
>  _Miller has ducked to the bathroom, but don’t worry, we are keeping an eye on Bellamy_ “tis but a scratch” _Blake._

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh at that one.

> **MILLER 9:15am:**  
>  _Bellamy is still unconscious, but Harper has put on one of the playlists he made her. Monty brought a bunch of books from his apartment (which I’m pretty sure they broke into) and has stacked them up on the bedside table. Jasper’s started telling him jokes and pretending to be offended when he doesn’t laugh. I can’t believe these are our closest friends. Octavia’s trying not to be amused by it all, but I can see her smiling when Jasper isn’t looking._
> 
> **MONTY ‘STAR TREK IS BETTER’ GREEN 9:16am:**  
>  _Hey Clarke, I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and make sure you’re okay. We’re all here for you, and we were all so worried. Bellamy especially._
> 
> **HARPER 9:21AM:**  
>  _If you need anything, babe, let me know._
> 
> **JASPER THE WIZARD 9:21am:**  
>  _Bellamy_ “just a flesh wound” _Blake isn’t laughing at any of my jokes, Clarke!_

Clarke laughed again and ran her fingers through her hair aggressively.

> **MILLER 10:18am:**  
>  _Bellamy is fine. Nurse says he’s well on the way to recovery, and that he’ll wake up in a few hours._
> 
> **MILLER 10:30am:**  
>  _Echo got her arm stitched, she’s gonna be fine. She and Roan have gone home for the night, but she said they’ll come visit Bellamy tomorrow, when he’s awake._
> 
> **MONTY ‘STAR TREK IS BETTER’ GREEN 10:30am:**  
>  _What time do you think the police will be done with their inquisition? Not that Bellamy _"Alright, well call it a draw"_ Blake is bothered, being unconscious and all._

She needed to see him. But she knew that he was in safe hands, and that she desperately needed a hot shower and a change of clothes.

“I’d like to go home, Mom,” she said softly, and Abby nodded and grabbed her car keys. 

“Where do you live, sweetheart?” Abby asked, and Clarke could have cried at that. She had half-expected her mother to just take her back to the mansion without another thought, but Abby understood that when Clarke said home, she meant Bellamy’s place. 

“I live on the floor below, you can just follow me there,” Raven suggested, and Abby nodded enthusiastically, taking her daughter’s hand and leading her out of the building and into the parking lot. 

The drive home was started off quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Clarke curled up against the window of the passenger seat and just enjoyed the streets as they drifted by. Just a few hours ago, she’d been convinced she’d never see the outside world again. That her last view would be the damp cell with that stupid rusted chair nailed to the center of the room. 

Abby was driving, and Marcus was in the back, behind Clarke. He reached a hand through the small gap between the seat and the door, and she took it. He squeezed it gently, “I love you, Clarke.”

“I love you too, Marcus,” she twisted in her seat, trying to catch his eye over the back of the seat. 

“I want you to know, no matter what happens, I will _always_ love you. You’re like a daughter to me Clarke; you always have been, long before I married into it. I know I’m never going to replace Jake, and I would never try, but I need you to know this. I never thought I would have kids – I didn’t think I wanted them. And then Abby and Jake had you, and I was blown away. My life-long brother had a baby girl, and for a moment I thought that everything would change for the worse. But it didn’t. The world became a better place with you in it. You were this perfect little girl, so clever and interesting and imaginative. Whenever I came over you had a new story to tell, or a drawing to give me. I kept them all, you know. You were so kind, too, always helping the other children when they needed it, and _willingly_ doing chores around the house. Then when you got older, you just became more and more amazing, and I was so in awe of you. I still am. And honestly, after you were born, I still didn’t want kids. You ruined me for having kids of my own, because I never wanted children, and then I met you and you were so perfect that I knew I could never have a child like that. I realised that no matter what, you would always be the most important person in my life.”

There wasn’t a single dry eye in the car when he’d finished speaking, and Clarke leaned against the headrest, making sure he could see her when she said, “I don’t know what to say. You’ve always been a second father to me, and I know you loved Dad… I guess it never occurred to me that I meant that much to anyone other than my parents.”

“Are you kidding?” Marcus chuckled, “I love you, Wells loves you, Bellamy loves you – I honestly don’t know what would have happened to all of us if we hadn’t found you. If… if something had happened. Your friends would have been devastated, but us… I think we would just cease to exist.”

Clarke tried to elbow him through the seat, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m deadly serious, Clarke,” Marcus said, and his tone was steadfast enough for her to believe him, “Miller, Wells and Bellamy came to our house to tell us what happened to you, and I caught Wells in your room, sobbing into one of your pillows when he said he was going to the bathroom. According to Miller, he’s been basically catatonic since you were taken.”

Clarke hated that her best friend had been so stressed, and she wished she could think of a way to make it better. Marcus pressed forward.

“And Bellamy… _god_ , Bellamy drove himself to exhaustion trying to find you. The only times he slept were when he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he barely ate. Miller stitched his injuries with cotton thread after he found him unconscious in the bath. He’d tried to do it himself. He only let Abby look at them because he physically couldn’t stop her. He rallied a whole team of people to go get you, even called in some of his army buddies. Even if he hadn’t fought with Emerson, if you’d stayed missing any longer, he would have ended up in hospital. I’ve never seen anyone with such a total disregard for their own well-being: _all he cared about was finding you_.”

The car fell silent again and Clarke found herself feeling angry. She knew it was only out of worry, but she couldn’t help it. Bellamy could have died. _What was he thinking?!_

They pulled up at the apartment block, and when Clarke turned her key in the lock and swung the door open, it really did feel like she was coming home. 

But it hurt a little too.

Because the whole place just oozed Bellamy. It smelled like him, and even though her own things were everywhere, there were still touches to the place that were specifically him. He’d made space on his bookshelves for her that she was yet to fill, and there was a shopping list on the counter with all the ingredients for a very ambitious roast dinner. She could cook perfectly fine, but Bellamy was practically a Michelin star chef compared to her. Whenever he had time, he would make something interesting or difficult, and on one the few days off he’d had since she moved in, he’d spent all day in the kitchen, trying different things. She’d sat on the couch, poking fun at him while she watched TV until he proved her wrong by depositing a plate of Baked Alaska in her lap. She remembered gaping up at him in wonder, and he’d just shrugged and retreated to the stovetop, where something was starting to smell amazing.

She hated that she could feel his absence more keenly with every step into the apartment. She hated that she quickened her pace just a little so she could reach her room without noticing anything else that would make her worry more. She hated that she had been in the middle of painting a portrait of Bellamy before she was kidnapped, and that it was sitting against the wall, taunting her, when she burst in. 

Marcus’s phone started ringing aggressively, and he apologised and excused himself to take the call. Abby glanced his way as he left, but she was too busy watching her daughter carefully, making sure she wasn’t about to have a break down. Clarke felt a little irritated, but she knew it came from a heartfelt place, and she also knew that she’d worried her mother like that before. 

“I have to go back to the office – apparently when the Mayor steps away from his duty for two days, the entire city falls apart,” he sounded more than a little exasperated and looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. He sighed, “I thought hiring a staff meant not having to oversee every little thing, but it seems I was wrong. Abby, a few of your nurses have called my office as well, because they couldn’t reach you. Clarke, I can come back in an hour, drop you off at the hospital?”

Clarke felt her panic rising. She tried to think of a cohesive way to tell him that that wasn’t an option – she had to see Bellamy as soon as possible, but luckily, Raven stepped in. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take her.”

Clarke mouthed _“thank you”_ at her but she only shrugged and smiled. 

“Are you sure?” Marcus asked.

“Of course. I want to see Bellamy too, and you and Abby both have jobs to do. Clarke will be fine for the next twenty-four hours or so; you can set the world to rights and then come visit.”

Abby looked reluctant to leave, but she followed her husband out anyway, stopping only to kiss Clarke on the forehead and whisper that she loved her. 

Clarke slumped in relief, thankful that she no longer had to hold herself as though she were perfectly fine. She hated seeing her family worry about her, but Raven was aware just how stressed she was – she didn’t need to hide it from her. 

She jumped in the shower, trying to enjoy it, but now that she was home, all she wanted was to be by Bellamy’s side. Despite how dirty she felt, it was one of the quickest showers she’d ever taken, and she emerged squeaky clean, her hair no longer matted and painful. 

On her way out of the bathroom, she glanced at the mirror, and it shocked her to see her own face. She hadn’t seen herself in days, and she wasn’t sure what she expected, but the dark reds and purples on her neck were alarming, and her face looked unusually pale. There were dark bags under her eyes, and there was a cut on her bottom lip from one of the times Cage had slapped her, or maybe it was Emerson’s doing. She couldn’t tear her eyes away; she barely recognised herself.

“Everything alright in there, Griffin?” Raven’s voice was muffled through the door. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just getting dressed,” she called back as she dragged herself away from the mirror and hurriedly pulled on her jeans. 

“Monty’s on the phone. He says that he’s going to pick up takeout for lunch and he’ll probably get back to the hospital when we arrive – do you want anything?”

“Yeah, I’d love some! Can you ask Monty to pick up some of Clarke’s usual?” She slipped a blouse over her head and snatched a jacket off the hanger. 

“He says that was already on the list, he just wasn’t sure if you wanted to eat just yet,” even through the wall, Clarke could hear the smile in Raven’s voice.

She opened the door and leaned into the phone, yelling, “I’ll see you soon Monty!”

Raven laughed and ducked, rubbing her ear as though that would stop it ringing from Clarke’s verbal assault, saying her goodbyes and hanging up. She straightened and pulled Clarke into a hug. Clarke had been hugged so many times in the last six hours, but she was yet to become sick of the sensation – if she could spend the rest of her life being periodically hugged by all her loved ones, she would die happy.

* * *

Monty was right; when they walked down the hospital hallway in the direction of Bellamy’s room, he caught up to them, containers of food stacked in his arms. 

“It’s the next left,” he said through the boxes, and they followed him around the corner. 

Raven was holding her elbow, and it made her feel better, but she still had to brace herself. 

Bellamy didn’t look as peaceful as she expected. 

There was still a small crease between his eyebrows, an almost permanent fixture of his being, even when asleep. She could count on two hands the times she’d seen him fully relaxed. 

Most of them were in his apartment, when they were eating breakfast, or the night he’d accidentally called her Princess, before he felt guilty and backed off. She wished there were more, but she knew better than most what he’d been through, and she knew it took a lot for him to truly relax. 

Octavia was sitting to his left, hunched over, clasping his hand, and Lincoln was standing behind her, his eyes watchful. Jasper and Harper were leaning against the wall, arguing about something, but they hushed each other when Clarke entered. Murphy and Emori were curled up on the small couch in the corner, that Murphy had clearly stolen from the waiting room, and Miller was sitting on Bellamy’s left. 

He stood up as soon as he saw her, and immediately offered her his seat, ignoring her protests. 

“I was saving it for you, so don’t even start,” he said sternly, and she smiled when he gave her a tight, one-armed hug. He looked as exhausted as Clarke felt, and he said his goodbyes and trudged out, waving off a lift home. He explained that Bryan was picking him up, and that the two of them would be back tomorrow, and then he disappeared with a tired wave.

Monty handed out all the food, making sure everyone had the right box, and then sat down between Jasper and Harper on the floor, tucking into his noodles.

Raven slotted herself in next to Murphy, who actually tore himself away from Emori to wrap an arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head before turning back to Emori who folded herself around him, stroking his hair.

Jasper shuffled to the side to give Monty more room, and looked up at Clarke, “How was the interrogation?”

“Oh excellent, except Diana Sydney got away.”

Harper looked up in horror, “Shit, really?!”

“Yeah, she’s probably halfway to Paraguay by now.”

“I’m sorry Clarke,” Lincoln said.

“It’s fine,” she sat down, threading her fingers through Bellamy’s, “as long as we’re okay, I don’t care.”

If her friends thought it was odd, they didn’t say anything, and Clarke didn’t notice all of them sharing knowing looks, she was so focussed on Bellamy’s face. 

“ _Are_ you okay?” The question wasn’t unexpected, but it still threw her, especially coming from Murphy.

She swallowed, “I will be.”

* * *

After a while, when all but Clarke, Octavia and Lincoln had trickled out, a nurse came to tell them that visiting hours were over. 9pm had been the cut-off, when everyone else had left, but half an hour later, the three of them had managed to stay undetected. Until the nurse happened to see them as she poked her head in to check on Bellamy.

“We’re aware,” Octavia said, venom in her voice. 

The nurse swallowed nervously. She’d obviously been warned about the younger Blake, “Ma’am I’m really going to have to insist–”

_“I’m not leaving my brother alone, lady.”_

Lincoln stood between them, raising his hands up in a gesture of goodwill before he suggested, “Octavia, why don’t we go home and get some rest. Shower, sleep, and come back in the morning. Clarke can stay here, she’ll watch him.”

Octavia looked like she was coming around to the idea, but she was still holding her brother’s shoulder possessively. 

The nurse looked confused, “Uh, actually, no-one can–”

“Miss Griffin is injured as well. Admit her as a patient and put her in here with Bellamy.” Lincoln ordered, gesturing at Clarke’s neck.

The nurse switched from apprehensive to attentive and agreed without question, wheeling a second bed into the small room. Clarke nodded her thanks at Lincoln, and he went to work extricating Octavia from her brother’s side. Before they left, however, Octavia threw her arms around Clarke’s shoulders, being careful not to bump her neck.

“We were so worried about you,” she said, “no matter what happens to Bellamy, I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Bellamy will be fine,” Clarke sounded a lot more certain than she felt, but Octavia seemed to believe her, giving her one last squeeze before she ducked out. 

After a doctor had been in to examine her throat and concluded that she would be fine with a few days’ rest, Clarke was finally alone with Bellamy Blake.

She pulled the chair closer to the bed and tucked her knees under herself, watching him carefully. 

“I know you’re awake, Bellamy,” Clarke said sternly, but he didn’t move. 

She poked his arm.

“Fuck off, I’m sleeping,” he replied breathily.

“You haven’t been asleep since Murphy and Emori went home an hour and a half ago.”

He cracked an eye open, “How did you know?”

“Because I can read monitors, genius,” she pointed at the machine on the other side of the bed. His lips tweaked in response and she smiled teasingly at him, “I was a doctor. Your vitals changed, your breathing changed, and also when the doctor was examining me, you frowned. But you kept pretending to be asleep. Why?”

He opened the other eye and sighed, “I just didn’t want everyone…”

“Worrying about you? It’s a bit late for that,” Clarke reached out and held his hand.

“No, I just… I didn’t want everybody crowding me, I wanted to wake up and be able to actually breathe,” he sounded like he was joking, but Clarke knew better, she knew what he wasn’t saying: he didn’t want his family to see him as weak.

She rolled her eyes, “Good luck taking any deep breaths with that chest injury you have there.”

“Was that a _joke_ , Griffin?” Bellamy asked, a smile finally overtaking his features as he pushed himself up on the pillows, “A joke, at my expense?”

She pretended to be offended, “As a medical professional, I would never joke about an injured man!”

He just kept looking at her patiently, waiting for the punchline he knew was coming. 

“But as your friend, yes absolutely,” she deadpanned and he chuckled and then winced. Clarke was about to ask if he was alright, when a clipped, businesslike voice spoke up from behind them.

“Oh good, both of you are here. That makes my life a lot easier.”

She turned in her seat to find Diana Sydney standing by the door, an armed man leaning against it, gun in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I love writing this story, and I was so sad that it was ending, that I've added another few chapters - it was supposed to be 21, but it got away from me a little. 
> 
> I hope you're still enjoying it as much as I am, and thank you so much for reading!
> 
> If you've made it this far, I want you to know that I love you very much :) xxx


	19. A Pair Of Hateful Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana Sydney reveals herself, and Clarke thinks on her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the other chapter with multiple perspectives, I hope you enjoy it, because these are so much fun to write, but they're also a lot more complicated, so they take a while.

### 

_No one laughs at God in a hospital_  
_No one laughs at God in a war_  
_No one's laughing at God_  
_When they've lost all they've got and they don't know what for_  
_No one laughs at God on the day they realize_  
_That the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes_  
_No one's laughing at God when they're saying their goodbyes_  
  
**Laughing With - Regina Spektor**

Clarke’s heart fell into her shoes. 

Diana Sydney was in the hospital. She was in their _room_ , and she had guns.

She opened her mouth to call out, but the other woman tutted. 

“Please, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no point screaming. If you do, you and your boyfriend will die a lot faster.”

Diana Sydney was wearing a grey pantsuit, well-fitting but bland, and her hair was tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked stern and authoritative, and even on the run, her make-up was impeccable, which only made Clarke despise her more. A woman who had committed so many crimes that she had to leave the country to escape police, and she still found the time to put on a full face of make-up. It was beyond conceited. 

“You’re just going to kill us anyway,” Clarke was half-standing now, but the armed guy by the door aimed the gun at her and she froze, before shrinking back into her seat. 

“Good point.” Sydney tilted her head as if mulling it over. She gestured at the soldier beside her, “if you scream, my men outside will open fire on the floor. Patients, nurses, doctors – I can assure you, bullets don’t discriminate – so if you don’t want a whole bunch of innocent people to die with you, I suggest you behave.”

Clarke swallowed, “what do you want?”

“I want my business back. I want my assets not to be frozen, and my office not to be swarming with police officers.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have spent years exploiting helpless victims then,” Bellamy growled. 

Sydney smiled, “Ah, Mr Blake. You’re quite the troublesome one, aren’t you? You almost ruined everything five years ago, and this week you couldn’t even _die_ properly.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said sarcastically, and leaned forward, “guess you’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Next time I’m putting the bullet through your skull myself,” Diana hissed. “And you, Miss Griffin, are most infuriating of all. All the work we did to make sure you never spoke to Mr Blake, and you manage to not only become a regular at his bar, but move in with him and carry on in _domestic banality_. And then of course, the Wallaces.”

“They were supposed to kill me,” Clarke leaned back in her seat, her arm draped at an odd angle, and Bellamy gave her an odd look. Clarke shook her head at him infinitesimally, but Sydney noticed. 

“Does that upset you, Mr Blake? Yes, Miss Griffin, they were to kidnap you and kill you – make it look random, like someone was trying to squeeze the mayor’s daughter for money. But they decided they wanted more of a cut, so they kept you hidden from me, and begged you for information. _Pathetic_.”

She started pacing back and forth, and the gun tucked into her belt at her back became visible. Clarke’s hand clenched over the arm of the chair, her other arm tucked almost behind her, hidden from view. 

“And of course, you were supposed to die, Mr Blake. The Wallaces hired Dax to distract you, but Dax works for me. I told him to kill you. If Cage Wallace hadn’t fumbled the exit so spectacularly, Dax would have reacted quicker, you would both be dead in alleyways somewhere, and I wouldn’t have a problem. As it is, you’ve thrown quite the spanner in the works. The Wallaces are in prison, Dax is dead, and my whole organization has crumbled to the ground.”

“And yet, rather than escaping, you’ve come here, to monologue at us,” Bellamy rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Actually Mr Blake, I’ve come because Clarke here has something I want.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed in confusion, “What else could you _possibly_ want from me?”

“The evidence that Dante wanted. I want your father’s letters.”

“Why on earth would I give them to you?”

“Because my organization might be complicit in your kidnapping, Miss Griffin, but as of yet, there’s no proof that I had anything to do with your father’s murder. And if you ever want the truth about his death, you’ll give them to me.”

“What do you mean the truth? You ordered Jaha to murder him, so he did.” Clarke’s voice wavered slightly.

“That’s not what happened. I’ll take those letters now,” she stepped forward menacingly, her movements echoed by the masked man beside her. 

“Why do you think I have them with me,” Clarke asked, stalling. 

“Because you’re a sensible girl, Clarke, you wouldn’t want to leave them anywhere that they could be stolen. You’d want them on your person, so you could keep an eye on them,” Diana cocked her gun and pointed it at her head, sounding bored, “give me the letters, Clarke, or you die.”

“ _Leave her alone,_ ” Bellamy snarled, and Diana just laughed. Clarke tried to ignore the barrel of the gun next to her eyes and shook her head at Bellamy, willing him not to do anything stupid. He looked at her in dismay, but she only sat up straighter and stared defiantly at Sydney.

She regard Clarke with interest, and then moved the pistol at her temple so it was pointed at Bellamy instead.

“Lieutenant Graco,” she gestured at the masked soldier to do the same. He followed suit, and the look on Bellamy’s face went from defiant to loathing.

Sydney “Give me the letters, or I put a bullet in the pretty boy’s skull.” 

Bellamy glared daggers at them, “Don’t do it, Clarke.”

For the first time since they’d come into the room, Clarke felt shaken. She couldn’t let them kill Bellamy, she had to do something.

“What happened to my father?”

* * *

* * *

Raven was alone in her apartment, wishing that her friends were there with her, shouting insults at each other in French, or asking her about her job. Instead, Bellamy and Clarke were in hospital and Emori was at Murphy’s place. 

So Raven had invited Wick over. 

She was certain her friends knew by now that she and Wick had something a little more than work related going on, but none of them had judged her for it or even brought it up. It had been going on for two weeks, almost since she got the job, and she really liked him, not least because of his chiselled abs and handsome face. 

She was distracted though, and when he went to pour them drinks, she stared out the window absentmindedly until he snapped her out of it by murmuring in her ear. 

“What’s going on?” He asked from behind her, arms snaked around her waist, chin on her shoulder, “you’re somewhere else tonight.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she lolled her head back against him, “I’m just worried.”

“About Bellamy? I’ve known that man for a long time, and I can say with absolutely certainty that he’ll be fine. If there’s one thing I know about Bellamy Blake, it’s that he’s a survivor.”

“No…”

“Clarke? Cause she’s pretty hardcore too,” he said reassuringly, and she giggled, kissing his jaw.

“No, it’s just… something doesn’t feel right. This all feels a little too easy.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it easy, Raven. You stormed an abandoned building in the harbour to rescue your kidnapped friend, after you spent two restless days searching for her, thinking she might be dead. And Bellamy was _stabbed half to death_.”

“I know, but–”

“No buts,” Wick said, brushing his lips over the soft skin of her neck, “you’ve been far too stressed the last few days. Just take a moment for yourself, relax a little. You’ve earned it, Reyes. Your friends would be lost without you. And so would I.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she breathed, letting him snake his hand up her shirt, but before they had a chance to get any further, her phone rang.

Clarke’s named flashed up, and Wick released her and sunk down onto the couch, “Answer it, I’ll be right here.”

“Clarke, are you okay, what’s up?” She asked, but no-one answered. There were muffled scratching noises, like her phone was still in her pocket, and for a second she thought it might have been a butt-dial. She was about to ask again, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognise say something that made her heart sink.

_“And of course, you were supposed to die, Mr Blake.”_

That had to be Diana Sydney. 

They were in trouble.

For a moment all she felt was terror, and then she snapped out of it – Clarke had managed to call her without Sydney realising, and they could use that to their advantage. Raven’s eyes widened and she reached out blindly for Wick, yanking him up from the sofa.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, immediately concerned, and she responded by putting her phone on speaker. 

_“-reacted quicker, you would both be dead in alleyways somewhere, and I wouldn’t have a problem. As it is, you’ve thrown quite the spanner in the works. The Wallaces are in prison, Dax is dead, and my whole organization has crumbled to the ground.”_

They looked at each other in horror and Wick pulled his own cell from his pocket and started dialling the police. 

_“And yet, rather than escaping, you’ve come here, to monologue at us,”_ that was Bellamy’s voice, so he was still alive, at least for the moment.

_“Actually Mr Blake, I’ve come because Clarke here has something I want.”_

“Police are on their way, they’ll be twenty minutes,” Wick said quietly and Raven shook her head – that wasn’t fast enough. He offered the phone to her and she started dialling.

“Murphy!” 

“This better be really good, Reyes,” he panted.

“Are you still wearing pants?”

“Not currently,” he drawled, “why?”

“Put some on and get to the hospital, Clarke and Bellamy are in trouble.”

“We're on our way,” he said, and hung up. 

Raven heard Clarke’s voice down the phone, louder than the others, _“What do you mean the truth? You ordered Jaha to murder him, so he did.”_

_“That’s not what happened. I’ll take those letters now,”_ Sydney sounded menacing, and Raven felt frantic.

She dialled again, “Roan, are you with Echo?”

“No, why?”

“Bellamy and Clarke are in trouble, Diana Sydney has them cornered at the hospital.”

“I'll get her. We’ll be there ASAP,” Roan said.

Raven kept listening to Clarke’s call, even as she typed into Wick’s phone. There was a silence just long enough for her to panic, before, _“Give me the letters, Clarke, or you die.”_

They looked at each other, eyes bulging, and Raven prayed that it was enough, that their friends would get there soon.

 _“Leave her alone,”_ Bellamy snarled, and Raven felt her stomach flip – he was still trying to stand between Clarke and danger, even from a hospital bed. Diana just laughed. It was a mean laugh, cold and cruel, and Raven felt that it was probably going to turn up in more than one of her nightmares about the last few days.

Raven called one more person, “Miller? I know you’re exhausted, and I promise, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, but they’re in trouble.”

“Again?” he mumbled sleepily, “Can’t we ever just catch a break?”

“Apparently not,” she said, voice strangled with her own worry, “Diana Sydney has them trapped at the hospital, so far I’ve heard mentions of soldiers and threats to open fire, so I’m going to assume they have guns. I’ve already called Murphy, Echo and Roan, and they’re on their way now, but I thought you should know too.”

She could hear him moving and when he spoke again, he sounded wide awake, “I’m at Bryan’s, it’s only a block down from the hospital – I can be there in under two minutes.”

Raven ended the call and chucked the phone back to Wick, who caught it deftly and then moved to follow her when she walked into her room. She sat down at her laptop and plugged her phone into it, typing something. 

_“Lieutenant Graco,”_ Diana’s voice commanded, and Raven mentally filed it away, resolving to find out who he was later. 

“What are you doing?” Wick asked, leaning against the desk.

“Recording the call,” Raven said, tapping a few more keys on her laptop before leaning back in her seat and just listening.

Sydney sounded almost frighteningly calm, _“Give me the letters, or I put a bullet in the pretty boy’s skull.”_

_“Don’t do it, Clarke.”_

Raven winced. She wanted Clarke to be safe, but she also wanted Bellamy to stay calm. It didn’t help anyone if he became enraged, because he wasn’t well enough to follow through on his bravado.

 _“What happened to my father?”_ Clarke’s voice asked, and Raven grinned – Clarke was stalling.

* * *

* * *

Sydney pondered it for a minute that stretched out for eons, and then she shoved her gun back in her belt. 

The soldier’s gun didn’t waver from Bellamy’s face, however. 

“Alright, Miss Griffin,” she said, leaning against the wall, “you want to know what really happened?”

“Yes. Then I’ll give you the letters.”

“Or I could just shoot you both and take the letters from your cold dead hands,” she suggested. 

Clarke crossed her arms, “I don’t think you’ll do that though.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because you’ve spent years keeping your schemes a secret, and now that it’s all out there, you can finally admit how clever you are. You want an audience. You want to tell me what happened to my father, to lord over me _just how impressive_ you are.” She studied the older woman’s face, and she knew she was right. She might not have taken psychology with Wells, but she knew enough about ego to know an inflated one when she saw it.

Sydney raised her eyebrows in surprise, and then laughed again, humourlessly, “I admit, Miss Griffin, you are astute.”

Clarke sat in silence, waiting for her to elaborate.

“Your father was a pain in my ass. The system had been going on for years, and it worked perfectly, until he came along. I suppose it was more Jaha’s fault than anyone else’s – he couldn’t hide his secrets from his friend – but eventually Jake Griffin had to be taken care of. So I ordered him to do it. But they’d known each other all their lives, and Jaha loved your father like a brother, so as a precaution, I sent Shumway to oversee it, in secret. With orders to step in, if necessary.”

Clarke was really hoping that Raven had picked up the call – it wasn’t like she could check without being caught.

Diana continued, “Jake was on his knees, in the dirt, crying like a child.”

Clarke’s hands balled into fists. She knew that Sydney was only trying to wind her up, but it was working. An announcement came over the loudspeakers, something about a Doctor Bravo reporting to the nurses’ station. It sounded vaguely familiar to Clarke, but she couldn’t remember why it sounded important.

“He was begging his friend to spare his life, and Jaha was considering it. Jaha finally broke down and refused to stab his friend. So Shumway stepped in. He put two in Jake, and was about to drop Thelonius as well, when he realised that an apt punishment for betraying me was being framed for the murder of a man he considered a brother. You have to understand, if he’d _really_ followed orders, Jaha never would have been caught; Jake’s death would have looked like an accident, or a random attack. No-one would ever have suspected foul play.”

“I presume you’ve done it before,” Bellamy’s jaw twitched.

“Of course. The amount of people my organization has killed and no-one has been any the wiser, Mr Blake, you’d be surprised. It should have happened that way that night. But Shumway had to shoot him. So while Jake bled out in the desert between them, Shumway made it very clear to Jaha that if he didn’t take the fall, his wife, his son, and even you, Miss Griffin, would be in danger.”

“Jaha… didn’t kill my father?” Clarke was gobsmacked. 

Her reality shifted.

She had spent years believing that he had murdered her father, and to be told it wasn’t true…

But it made sense.

“Trust me honey, he did plenty of terrible things on my behalf, including raiding villages and stealing from the helpless, but no – he never managed to do _that_.”

“You forced someone to murder his brother, and when he couldn’t go through with it, your henchman shot said brother in front of him and then threatened his family in order to frame him for the murder anyway?” Bellamy looked appalled.

“Yes.”

 _“You’re evil,”_ Clarke hissed. Like a lightbulb, she suddenly remembered why Doctor Bravo sounded so familiar, and it took every ounce of self-control she had not to grin.

“I never laid a hand on anyone.” Sydney sounded smug.

“No, you just sat in your ivory tower and ordered other people to do it for you. How is that better?” Bellamy asked, voice dripping with contempt. 

Someone made a hacking noise that sounded like a cough on the other side of the wall, and Bellamy’s head jerked up, eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t have much time to think about it, however, because Diana answered his question.

“It made me rich,” she said simply, and turned back to Clarke, “the letters, Miss Griffin.”

“I don’t have them,” Clarke said. 

“What?!”

“To be fair, I never said I had them, you said so, and I never corrected you.”

_“What?!”_

“They’re back at the apartment. Why would I bring them to the hospital?”

_“WHAT?!”_

“You never asked,” Clarke pointed out, and Diana became enraged. She yanked her gun out again and pressed it against Clarke’s forehead, which made Bellamy tense up. 

_“That was a mistake, Clarke.”_ Diana said thunderously, yanking her hair back to force her face up, and smacked her in the face with her pistol. Clarke felt the pain radiating through her cheek, and she knew that the skin was broken because she felt the blood running down and pooling beneath her chin. 

Clarke gritted her teeth and looked up at the other woman defiantly. 

Sydney flashed her a grin and raised a hand at Lieutenant Graco, who cocked his weapon and re-aimed it directly between Bellamy’s eyes, “Now you get to watch Mr Blake die.”

Clarke and Bellamy locked eyes, and for a moment, he looked worried, not about himself, but her. 

Then she moved.

* * *

* * *

Miller had been the first to arrive. He’d rushed up to the correct floor, but once there, he forced himself to slow down. If Diana’s men made him, his friends would die. 

He reached the right section of the hospital, and when he wandered through the waiting area, Bellamy’s room to his left, he scanned for suspicious people. It didn’t look like there were any, just nurses, doctors, a janitor and some security personnel – perfectly normal for a late night in a hospital - but he knew that couldn’t be true. Some of these people had to be Sydney’s men.

So when he approached one of the nurses in the hallway to _‘inquire about a friend, called James’_ he managed to walk her around the corner and down the hall before he admitted that he wasn’t there for anyone called James. He asked her enough questions to confirm that she was, in fact, a real nurse, before he launched into his description of what was happening.

He explained the hostage situation, and the armed men on the floor. He said he wasn’t sure who was really a doctor and who wasn’t, and that he was worried for the safety of everyone on the floor.

The nurse was surprisingly collected, and calmly walked him over to the nearest comms.

“Could Doctor Bravo please report to the nurses’ station, Doctor Bravo,” she recited. 

“What does that mean, who's Doctor Bravo?” Miller asked, but just as she was about to answer, Roan, Echo, Murphy and Emori came sprinting down the hall.

_“What happened?”_

_“How many men?”_

_“What’s the plan?”_

They all asked at once, and Miller held up a hand. 

“I don’t know how many men, but there haven’t been any shots fired yet, so we can assume that Clarke and Bellamy are still alive. The plan is to extract the innocent bystanders, and once we know who Sydney’s men are, take them out.”

“Well how are we supposed to figure that out? They’re hardly likely to be prowling the hospital in camo.” Roan groaned.

The nurse raised her hand, “I think I fixed that.”

“Do tell?” Murphy raised an eyebrow.

“I called a Code Bravo. That’s hospital code for a possible hostage or terrorist situation, in which the instructions are to talk to no-one, make sure all patients are in their rooms, and gather in the office stated over the comms. I told them to go the nurses’ station, which is down the other end of the hall. Anyone who doesn’t end up at that meeting point in the next minute, isn’t hospital faculty.”

All of them stared at her.

“That’s… kinda genius,” Echo said. 

The nurse grinned, “Thanks. Go save the day.”

She ducked away down the corridor, and they rounded the corner back into the common area.

The girl was right, the area was significantly less populated than it had been before. The only people left were one security guard, one doctor and two nurses, one male, one female. 

“Well that makes it easier,” Emori said. 

They did their best to look like a confused, visiting family, and leaned against the inquiry desk in a casual fashion.

“Alright, you and Murphy take the doctor, Echo take one of the nurses, Roan take the other. I’ve got the security guard.” Miller murmured.

“Does it matter which nurse I take?” Echo asked, “Is it more or less sexist for me to attack the girl?”

Roan chuckled, “Rock Paper Scissors?”

The two of them shook their hands at each other, and Echo ended up with the male nurse. Miller rolled his eyes, but Murphy and Emori were doing their best not to laugh out loud. 

The security guard paced towards them. 

Miller nodded to the others and they started moving away. 

Just as the security guard came close enough to pass him, Miller stepped forward, “Excuse me, sir, sorry, but do you happen to know where the bathroom is on this floor?”

Up close, he was clearly military – the way he held himself, his haircut, the barely concealed weapon at his hip – Miller just needed an opening. The man sighed at him, “It’s just down that hall, second on the left.”

As he lifted his arm to point, Miller grabbed his wrist and broke it. Before the man even had a chance to react, he yanked the broken mitt behind his back, and started silently choking him out.

Closer to Bellamy’s room, Echo had flirtatiously approached the male nurse, but when he became suspicious, he looked as though he were about to call out to his boss or his fellow soldiers. Within seconds she had spun around and elbowed him in the throat. He made a loud coughing noise and she disarmed him, forced him to his knees and then knocked him out. 

Roan had choked out the female nurse already, and Murphy and Emori had dragged the man disguised as a doctor into a janitor’s closet and had been taking turns hitting him with various cleaning implements. Once he was subdued, they closed the door and locked him in. 

They all crept up to the door together, listening. 

_“You never asked,”_ that was Clarke’s voice. 

_“That was a mistake, Clarke.”_ There was a dull thwack, and the unmistakeable sound of a gun being cocked, _“now you get to watch Mr Blake die.”_

Miller yanked the door open and in that moment of distraction, Clarke dove at Diana, tackling her to the ground. 

The man with his gun pointed at Bellamy didn’t have a chance to shoot it, however, because he was too distracted by the five people standing in the doorway. 

He swung it around, but he didn’t even get a finger on the trigger before Roan thrust the base of his palm into the guy’s chin, wrenching the weapon from his hand. Murphy pulled a switchblade on his and held it to his neck, forcing him to the ground. 

“Feel free to move, but I wouldn’t want to _accidentally_ nick an artery while I’m trying to restrain you,” Murphy said gleefully. 

Miller turned to look at Clarke. 

She was sitting on top of Sydney, who was trapped beneath her, splayed uncomfortably on the ground. Clarke had snatched her gun from her and was using it to pistol-whip her repeatedly in the face. 

Diana smiled up at her and Clarke yelled, “you're done! You’re going to sit in a cell for the rest of your life. You’re never seeing the sun again!”

“It’ll never stick,” Sydney grinned, blood on her teeth, “I have people in the police force, in the courtrooms, in prisons… My influence is everywhere.”

Clarke changed tactics and pressed the barrel of the pistol right between her eyes, _“rot in hell, you evil fucking–”_

“Whoa, Clarke!” Miller grabbed her under the arms and lifted her off the other woman. 

_“Get off me, Miller, she’s evil. SHE’S THE REASON MY FATHER’S DEAD, SHE WAS GOING TO KILL US!”_

“I can see that, Clarke, but she’s not going to get away with it this time.”

Emori and Echo had shoved Diana into the nearest chair. Echo was pointing the gun she’d stolen at her while Emori zip-tied her wrists. 

Clarke struggled again, but she knew Miller was right, and within seconds, she completely changed direction and ran over to Bellamy.

She grabbed his cheeks, eyes raking across him, “Are you okay?”

“Peachy, Princess,” he reached up and ghosted his fingers over her cheek, staring concernedly at her injury. He grimaced up at her, “don’t worry about me.”

“I’m fine,” Clarke muttered, placing her hand over his against her face.

“Clarke, you were about to murder someone,” he pointed out, and she gripped his fingers.

“She was about to murder you,” she replied softly, and Bellamy was going to say something when a whole bunch of police stormed in, weapons at the ready. 

“Right on time,” Miller said, surprised, “Raven _said_ twenty minutes.”

“Raven’s a shrewd woman,” and then the Captain herself was standing over them all, surveying the scene before her, “she was smart enough to know that twenty minutes wouldn’t be quick enough, and smart enough to know who to call. Unfortunately, the man who took Wick's call was on Diana's payroll, and was intending to sit on the information. Luckily, I knew that, and had one of my men eavesdropping, and I managed to coalesce my team. Remind me to buy her some flowers. We can take it from here.”

She ordered her officers to arrest Graco and Sydney.

“So we’re not getting arrested for… vigilantism, or anything?” Roan sounded almost disappointed. 

“Of course not, if anything, the city will give you medals for your service to the country,” Luna scoffed. 

“Well that’s a nice change,” Echo muttered, and Murphy grumbled in agreement. 

Sydney was being properly handcuffed when Luna approached her, “It gives me no small amount of pleasure, Diana Sydney, to arrest you for crimes against humanity, decency, and, hell, even fashion.”

She started to read the woman her rights as she dragged her from her room, and Clarke suddenly remembered her phone. She reached into her back pocket and noticed the call still open.

She put it on speaker.

“Raven are you still there?”

“Of course. You can tell Captain Creek that I’d prefer a new hard-drive.”

“New hard-drive it is then, Miss Reyes,” Luna said, as she exited with her men.

“I can’t even express how grateful I am that you picked up the phone,” Clarke exhaled slowly. 

“ _Always_ , Griffin,” Raven said.

“I think I’d like to go home now,” Bellamy groaned tiredly, “there are a lot less homicidal maniacs there.”

Raven snorted, “If you don’t count Clarke.”

Bellamy snorted, and Clarke said goodbye to Raven and hung up.

He leaned back, closing his eyes, “In all seriousness – when can I get out of here?”

Clarke slumped into her seat by his side, “We’ll talk to the doctors tomorrow. For now, can we just sleep? Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, Princess,” he mumbled, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Murphy and Emori curled up on Clarke’s unused bed together, and Roan and Echo took the couch. Miller went and sat beside them, leaning against Roan, who flopped his head back against the wall.

“You guys should go home,” Clarke mumbled, her eyelids drooping, “Get some rest.”

“Nah,” Miller said, “we’ll sleep here. It’s easier to rescue you two if we’re in the same room.”

 _“Fuck off, Miller,”_ Clarke and Bellamy said in unison, and all of their friends smiled as consciousness collectively left them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! 
> 
> There's not really any more action, but there's PLENTY of drama to go, so don't worry.
> 
> Also, holy shit, episode 7, amirite?
> 
> I hope you're all having wonderful days, and thank you for the comments and kudos.


	20. She'll Break Her Own Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets some closure, and Bellamy worries (what else is he going to do, honestly?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song in particular is the one that makes me think of Bellarke most out of Regina Spektor's - it's just so romantic and broken and urgh it breaks my heart in the best way possible. Y'know, like Bellarke. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

### 

_She's the kind of girl_  
_Who'll smash herself down_  
_In the night_  
_She's the kind of girl_  
_Who'll fracture her mind_  
_Till it's light_  
_She'll break her own_  
_Heart_  
_And you_  
_Know_  
_That she'll break your heart too_  
_So darling, let go of her hand_  
  
**Patron Saint - Regina Spektor**

Monday, by some monumental stroke of luck, was entirely uneventful. 

Clarke and Bellamy spent the day in their respective hospital beds, wrestling with boredom and not much else. 

Miller had dropped them some food from the kitchen in his lunchbreak, because, _“hospital food blows.”_

He’d headed back to the bar with a cheery wave and Wells burst in shortly afterwards.

“Roan told me,” he gasped as he practically fell into the room, “He was sitting with Murphy and Emori in The Dropship this morning and he asked how you were, and I said I was on my way, so he said that he was surprised I hadn’t been to see you earlier since you had been attacked last night, and then I started freaking out and he tried to calm me down but I got in my car and drove straight here!”

“Oh my god, was that all once sentence?” Clarke asked, amused.

“This is NOT FUNNY,” he grouched, _“Diana Sydney tried to kill you. AGAIN.”_

“Yeah, but we’re fine,” Clarke reassured him. 

“Why didn’t you call me _immediately?_ ” 

“Because we got attacked and then she got arrested and then all of us fell asleep. We were pretty exhausted,” Clarke explained patiently.

“Why didn’t Raven call me? Roan said you called her,” Wells still sounded disgruntled, but he was running out of steam now.

“Because she was on a one-way trip to the bone zone,” Clarke deadpanned.

“There were no survivors,” Bellamy joined it, concealing his grin by shoving carrots in his mouth.

“ _This is not funny_ ,” Wells said again. 

“It’s a little funny,” Clarke pursed her lips to stop herself from smiling.

Wells deflated completely, “Fine, it’s a little funny. What’s for lunch?”

He sat next to Clarke on her bed, picking at her bowl with a fork.

“For me? Stir-fry. For you?” Clarke reached across him and placed a plastic tray in his lap, “hospital lunch.”

To his credit, Wells didn’t complain, he just started eating in silent indignation. Bellamy finished his and leaned back against his pillows, wincing. 

“You okay Digiorno?” Wells asked. 

“Oh good, that nickname is sticking around,” Bellamy said sarcastically. He closed his eyes, as if not being able to see Wells would make him magically vanish. 

“That nickname is staying forever, Digiorno. Might as well just change your name now, save yourself the trouble of fighting it,” he joked.

“I can’t believe you’re letting him give you such a ridiculous nickname,” Clarke teased.

Bellamy sighed, “I mean, ‘letting’ definitely isn’t the right word.”

“Whatever, Digiorno,” Clarke jested, but Bellamy’s eyes flew open and he stared at her, horrified. 

“No.”

“What?” She feigned innocence. 

“I can deal with Wells, but if you start calling me that, I will actually spontaneously combust.”

Clarke looked like she was about to push the joke further, but something dark crossed her expression and she backed off, “Alright Bellamy.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, relaxing back against the wall again. 

There was no TV in their room, but Octavia dropped by their apartment and brought some books, so the two of them devoured them, swapping when they were done. The rest of the day was spent fielding visits from their friends, and trying to stop Octavia from garrotting the nurses when they told her that visiting hours were over in the evening.

* * *

On Tuesday, Clarke was discharged, and she felt bad leaving Bellamy in the hospital, but Miller, Murphy and Octavia were taking turns visiting him. He wouldn’t be alone. 

At least, that’s what she told herself when Wells picked her up. 

She also told herself that she wasn’t lying to Bellamy by not telling him her plan for the day, when he’d asked. 

She was just… avoiding the truth. 

Wells threw some snacks across at her and started devouring his own muesli bar while he drove. 

They’d been in the car for an hour, too tense to sing along to the songs on their favourite playlist, the unspoken reason they were silent hanging between them, making it worse.

Luckily, Clarke’s phone went off, and she could drag her gaze from the long stretch of road ahead and stop thinking about where they were going.

> **BELLAMY “JUST A FLESH WOUND” BLAKE 11:34am:**  
>  _Oh my god, Clarke, please come back! This is torture._

  
She rolled her eyes, a small smile gracing her lips.

> **CLARKE 11:34am:**  
>  _What exactly is torturous about having the people you love most in the world sitting around your hospital bed?_
> 
> **BELLAMY “JUST A FLESH WOUND” BLAKE 11:35am:**  
>  _Well, when you say it like that, it sounds great, in theory._
> 
> _In practice, Octavia keeps starting fights with hospital staff, Miller keeps babying me, and Murphy keeps stealing from the vending machines. And I haven’t had a single moment alone since I woke up from surgery._

  
Clarke sighed. She knew he loved his family, their friends, but she also knew just how much he wanted to be left alone until he felt better. He wasn’t a man-flu kind of guy – he wanted to lick his wounds in peace and emerge, days later, perfectly fine. Unfortunately, in this instance, that just wasn’t going to happen.

He was lucky that the journalists had been kept out of the hospital by the security and the extra police around their floor, or he’d never get any peace again.

> **CLARKE 11:36am:**  
>  _I know._  
>  _I’m sorry._  
>  _I’ll see you tomorrow though, I promise._
> 
> **BELLAMY “JUST A FLESH WOUND” BLAKE 11:36am:**  
>  _You better._  
>  _Please rescue me from this hell._
> 
> **CLARKE 11:37am:**  
>  _Why don’t you watch a movie?_
> 
> **BELLAMY “JUST A FLESH WOUND” BLAKE 11:38am:**  
>  _Fuck you._

  
She laughed and pocketed her phone.

“Is he okay?” Wells asked, eyes never leaving the road. 

“Yeah, he’s just bored, and cooped up.” She didn’t bother to ask how Wells knew who she was talking to: he just knew.

“Fair enough,” he indicated and then turned into a gas station, “not as cooped up as we’re about to be.”

“True,” Clarke said, climbing out of the passenger seat and back in on the driver’s side while Wells filled up the tank. She stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles before rapping them against the steering wheel gently, mimicking the rhythm of the song playing quietly from the speakers.

When Wells had paid and bought some more snacks, he clambered into the passenger seat and stuck his legs up on the dash.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked, after twenty minutes had scraped slowly by with no conversation.

“I don’t know.” She replied, and it was true. She paused a moment and then, “Do _you_ wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“Should we… be ready, somehow?”

“I don’t think we’re ever going to be ready, Clarke.”

“I know but…”

“Yeah.” He agreed, and they spent the rest of the drive in a slightly more comfortable silence.

* * *

When they arrived at their destination, filled in all the relevant forms, and jumped through all the necessary hoops, Clarke and Wells were sitting on one side of a table in a small room with cameras in every corner. 

After a short waiting period, the door they’d been watching with baited breath opened, and Thelonius Jaha walked through. 

He sat down across from them, waiting for either of them to speak. 

Eventually, when it became clear that neither of them would, he leaned forward in his seat, “It has come to my attention that Diana Sydney has been arrested.”

“Yes.” Clarke whispered. 

“And Shumway is now on trial for murder,” he continued. 

“Yes.”

“Which means that the true circumstances of Jake’s death have come out somehow.”

“ _Yes_.”

“In which case, Clarke, may I say how truly sorry I am?” Jaha asked, and tears pooled in his eyes, “Jake was my friend. He was my friend, and I failed him.”

“But you didn’t kill him,” she murmured.

“I might as well have. If I’d never joined Diana’s scheme, he’d never have been in any danger. I let my greed blind me, Miss Griffin, and it cost my best friend his life.”

“But you didn’t _kill him_ ,” Wells echoed. 

“No, I did not technically pull the trigger. I just precipitated his execution.”

“But you let all of us think…” Wells trailed off. 

“They threatened you. Both of you. And my beautiful wife, god rest her soul. I couldn’t just let them hurt my family, so I took the fall.”

“But… But you let me think…” Wells stuttered, “you let your only son think you were a murderer. Why didn’t you just tell me.”

“I had to keep you safe,” he said simply. 

Wells looked pained, and tears of his own started forming, “I haven’t even visited you since Mom died. Three years of total radio silence, and you still didn’t think it would be a good idea to come clean?”

“I couldn’t tell you, son,” he folded his hands in his lap, “I couldn’t risk anyone else finding out, or overhearing. And I couldn’t have put it in a letter – they read our mail. I had to keep it from you.”

Wells began to cry more openly, holding Clarke’s hand for support, “But I’ve spent years resenting you, hating you, even. You let me hate you.”

Jaha swallowed, “Yes.”

“Did Mom know?”

“I told her shortly before she died. Conjugal visits don’t have cameras, so she scheduled one of those and we just spent hours talking. Nothing else, just… talking about everything I’d missed in prison: you getting your teaching job at Mount Weather, Clarke moving to Polis for the last half of med school, Abby getting engaged to Kane. I wanted to know all of it, and she wanted to know everything about what happened to Jake.”

“She never told anyone?” Wells sounded incredulous.

“She held onto it until her dying day. She’d rather have her son alive and her husband in prison than her son dead and her husband probably also dead, I suppose,” Jaha cracked a sad smile. 

There was a full minute where nothing was said, until Wells squeezed his friend’s fingers. 

“What…” Clarke said timidly, “What were my father’s last words?”

Jaha reached out and took her free hand in both of his, “Oh, Clarke, I have been waiting five years for you to ask me that question. It’s been eating me alive, not telling you what happened to your father, and what kind of hero he truly was.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shumway was going to kill me to,” Jaha explained, “He shot Jake and then he pointed his gun at me. It makes sense – two people dead in a warzone, no-one’s even going to blink – but Jake, standing there with a bullet in his chest, moved in front of me.”

Clarke felt her own tears spill out over her lashes, and then all three of them were crying together; at this point they were basically adding to the jail’s water supply. Her phone buzzed, and she knew it was Bellamy, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it. 

“Shumway told him to move, but Jake stood his ground, and Shumway changed his mind, told me that if I wanted my family to live I would take the fall, and left. I held Jake in my arms while he died, and he just kept saying, _‘she has to be happy Thelonius. I didn’t write that down, I hope she knows. Clarke has to find a way to be happy.’_ He said that more than once, and then, the very last thing he said before he… the last thing he said was, _‘Tell her to find what makes her happy and never let go.’_ ”

Clarke tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was too big, and it hurt too much.

Her father’s dying wish had been for her to find happiness, and she’d spent the last five years being bitter and anxious and depressed and lonely and angry. God, she’d been so furious, with everyone: especially herself.

She knew that knowing his final words wouldn’t have changed those five years in the slightest, that wasn’t how grief worked, but maybe they would have given her more hope for her future.

“Thank you,” she choked out. 

“Don’t thank me,” he sounded vaguely disgusted at the idea, “I don’t deserve it.”

She tried to protest, but huge sobs started wracking her body. 

Jaha sighed, his tone softer, “Just honour his memory, Clarke. That’s all he would want.”

She nodded, unable to form words anymore, and Wells draped his free arm over her shoulder comfortingly. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket but she didn’t hear it. She was too busy trying to get her tears under control and failing miserably. Wells stroked her back tenderly and Jaha continued holding her hand while she cried. 

Her phone buzzed again. 

“If you don’t answer soon, he’s gonna freak out,” Wells said quietly. 

“Miller’s there, he’ll be fine,” Clarke sniffled. 

Wells scoffed, “No, he’s going to spiral until he knows you’re not lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or kidnapped again.”

“Again?” Jaha looked thoroughly disconcerted.

“Oh yeah, it’s a long story.” Wells waved a hand dismissively. 

Clarke’s phone started ringing. 

“See, told ya,” Wells said triumphantly, and she sighed and withdrew her hands so she could answer the phone. 

“Bellamy, I’m fine,” she said, in lieu of ‘hello’. 

Jaha recognised the name and exchanged a look with Wells, who only nodded his assent. 

There was a pause as he tried to scramble for an excuse for calling her that wasn’t checking up on her, but he ended up just saying, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah… no… I don’t know,” she dissolved into sobs again. 

“Hey, hey, Princess, what’s going on?” He sounded so concerned, so caring, that she immediately felt guilty for not telling him her plans for the day. 

“I just… I lied to you.”

“You lied to me? What about?” 

“When I left the hospital this morning, I told you me and Wells were just going to hang out, but that wasn’t true, I… We drove to The Arc.”

There was a very long silence. 

She glanced fearfully at Wells, who stared calmly back. 

“You drove to Arc Prison? You–”

“– went to see Wells's dad, yeah,” Clarke finished for him.

“Right,” there was a hard edge to his voice now, “and how did that go?”

“Well, it’s… technically, it’s still going.” She said sheepishly, and she could visual him clenching his jaw in response. 

“You’re sitting with Jaha _now_?” He asked stiffly. 

“Yes. We were talking about my dad, and about his last words, and I just… it was all a bit too much,” she sniffled, brushing fresh tears off her cheeks. 

Every ounce of rigidity left his voice when he said, “Are you okay?”

She laughed, but it came out more like a whimper, “You don’t have to keep asking me that, you know.”

“You’re my best friend, Clarke, and as I understand it you’re currently crying in a jail, four hours away from home,” he said gently.

“It’s okay, the Jaha’s have been taking care of me,” Clarke said, glancing at them gratefully. 

“Speaking of which, can you do me a favour?” He asked nervously. 

“Sure?” 

“Can you put me on speakerphone?”

Clarke hesitated, but complied. 

The three of them sat in silence, staring at her phone on the table.

Wells tried to lighten the mood slightly by saying, “What is it that you need, Digiorno? A big strong man to hold you while you sleep?”

“Yeah, it’s a pity there’s none of those around,” he snarked back, and then more quietly, as if leaning away from the mouthpiece, “shut up Murphy.”

“Bellamy?” Clarke asked.

“Yeah, sorry, Murphy’s being Murphy.”

This time Murphy could be heard saying, _“I resent that, Blake!”_

“Anyway,” he said, “I just wanted to speak to Jaha.”

Thelonius rubbed his forehead, the exact movement that Wells had made earlier in the car, and replied, “Yes Mr Blake.”

“Do you remember me?”

“I do,” he admitted, “you were a good friend to me and Jake.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, and Clarke knew that his mouth was set in a hard line, “so you’ll understand me when I tell you to go fuck yourself for what happened to Jake.”

Clarke sucked in a breath through her teeth, but Jaha only smiled sadly, “Yes, Mr Blake, I understand.”

“But…” Bellamy faltered, “But taking the fall for Jake’s murder kept two of my closest friends alive.”

“You can just say Clarke,” Wells said jokingly, “I won’t be offended.”

“Wells, I swear to god, the second I’m healed, I’m going to kill you.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Taking the fall for Jake’s murder kept _two_ of my closest friends, _Wells_ , alive. And I can never thank you enough for that, Jaha. I’d thank you a lot more if we had a little heads up about Diana Sydney before she kidnapped Clarke and ordered Dax to stab me to death, but I understand why you couldn’t reveal that – you had to protect your son.”

“Of course,” Jaha nodded, looking a little thrown. 

“I just wanted it on record that despite my immense hatred for you and your actions, I respect that you put yourself aside for long enough to keep your family safe.”

“Especially Clarke,” Wells finished for him and Bellamy sighed deeply into the phone, exasperated, which only made Wells smile harder. 

“Yes, you jackass, especially Clarke,” Bellamy admitted, “because she’s my best friend – _no, fuck off Murphy_ – and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her in my life.”

Clarke flushed a little, and when Wells started giving her a pointed look, she covered her face with both hands and mumbled through them, “Well, to be fair, without you in my life, I would have probably died, so I’d say it’s a win-win.”

He chuckled lightly, “Likewise, Princess.”

Murphy could be heard making forced vomiting sounds, and there was the familiar thump of him being smacked in the back of the head. There was a muffled discussion, and then Murphy’s voice was the one closest to the microphone.

“Oh, Jaha, sorry for trying to murder you in court,” Murphy said, sounding bored. 

“Don’t apologise, Mr Murphy, I thoroughly deserved it,” Jaha said, “but I’d prefer it if you didn’t attempt it again anytime soon.”

Murphy grunted but made no reply, and Bellamy’s voice took over, “Alright, Clarke, I’ll leave you alone now, but please text me when you get home.”

“Alright Mom,” Clarke rolled her eyes and Bellamy laughed. She blinked, “What?”

“Nothing… just, maybe later, you should ask Miller about the _‘Mom and Dad’_ thing.”

“What _‘Mom and Dad thing’_?” She asked warily. 

“I think Miller should tell you.” He sounded like he was concealing a smile with his hand and Clarke couldn’t help matching it with one of her own. 

“Okay.”

“Clarke, are you sure you’re alright?”

She wiped tears from her cheek and sniffed, “Yeah, Bell, I’m fine.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow Princess.”

He hung up, and Clarke rubbed her eyes. When she looked up, both Wells and Thelonius were staring at her with identical amused expressions. She flushed and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring back at them defiantly. 

“Not a word, Wells,” she snapped.

“I didn’t say anything,” he responded, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

“So, you and Bellamy Blake, huh?” Thelonius asked, and the light pink flush on her face graduated to a bright red.

“What? No.” She blustered.

Jaha laughed, “Miss Griffin, when you answered the phone, you were sobbing uncontrollably, and now you’re…”

“Fine,” Wells finished for him. 

She glanced between them – of course they would gang up on her, they always used to when she was younger too – she’d forgotten how similar Wells was to his father, and it seemed prison hadn’t changed anything. 

“He keeps you centered,” Jaha noted. 

Clarke closed her eyes for a moment. 

“And you don’t even want to know how crazy he went when you were missing,” Wells added, “I’m actually surprised how calm he’s been the last few days. I figured the second you told him we were with my dad, he’d be pulling out his IV and driving up here.”

“Mr Blake is in hospital?” Jaha asked, concerned. 

“Yeah, he got stabbed, twice, trying to rescue Clarke from her kidnappers, and then worked himself to exhaustion for days trying to find her, and then beat a guy half to death who was trying to hurt her.”

“Wells,” Clarke started, but he didn’t let her finish.

“Clarke, just because you’re in denial, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be.”

She didn’t have a response to that, so she spent the rest of the visit in silence, trying to work out what that meant. Wells and Thelonius left each other on good terms, discussing when Jaha’s next parole hearing was, and promising they’d call each other. Before they exited the prison, Thelonius patted Clarke on the shoulder.

“You’ve sacrificed so much, Clarke, and I know that I was a big part of that. I can see what a toll it’s taken on you. But Jake was right – you should find what makes you happy, and hold onto it for dear life. You've sacrificed so much. Your life can be more than just impossible decisions and a tragic end. _You can choose to live_ , Clarke.”

Clarke was once again completely lost for words, so she simply nodded and followed Wells out the door. The car ride back was easier, more relaxed, but she was too lost in thought to talk much. She just kept thinking about her father, and her life, and Bellamy.

She realised with a jolt that of all the things that made her happy, Bellamy was the one that made her feel it most. She wrung her hands together. She was overcome with emotion, and a sudden epiphany about her life and her happiness and she had absolutely no idea how to process that. So she looked over at the only person in the world who knew her better than herself.

“Wells?”

“Mm?” He answered, staring at the road, hands resting loosely on the wheel. The light was changing as the sun went down, bathing them both in a warm orange glow. 

“I think I’m in love with Bellamy.” She admitted.

He glanced at her, “Yeah, Clarke, I know.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” She fretted. She'd been in love before, or at least thought she had, and none of those relationships had ever gone where she expected them to. She even thought she loved Finn, and that had crashed and burned. She couldn't do that with Bellamy: she couldn't risk losing him. When had this happened? When had she fallen so hard for the grumpy bartender she used to hate?

“You could tell him?”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Wells snorted, “He does.”

“You don’t know that,” she mumbled, and Wells reached across and held her hand. 

“Even if I didn’t know that, I’d still think you should tell him.”

“Or, I could take this to my grave and save myself the heartbreak of being rejected by my favourite person.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” Wells teased, but he kept his hand in hers the whole way home, and she wondered when her life had become so complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far, I almost can't believe anyone would! 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, and feel free to come talk to me on tumblr, I'm super dorky but I'm friendly, I swear.


	21. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy gets discharged from hospital and his friends decide to throw him a birthday party.

### 

_For every road we can retrace_  
_For every memory we can't face_  
_For every name that's been erased_  
_Let's have another round_  
_May I propose a little toast?_  
_For all the ones who hurt the most_  
_For all the friends that we have lost_  
_Let's give them one more round of applause_  
  
_But you're like a party somebody threw me_  
_You taste like birthday_  
_You look like New Year_  
_You're like a big parade through town_  
_That leaves such a mess but you're so fun_  
  
**The Party - Regina Spektor**

On Friday, Bellamy was discharged from the hospital and allowed home. Clarke had driven, with Miller and Raven in the backseat. Monty, Harper and Jasper were all at work, but promised to drop by in the afternoon, along with everyone else, who had seemingly invited themselves over for dinner.

It was his birthday on Tuesday, and while he was trying not to think about how soon that was, his friends had collectively decided they would celebrate it together when he was discharged. Partially to celebrate Clarke's safe return, partially to celebrate his release from hospital, but mostly for his birthday. Roan and Echo were leaving on Monday, and Octavia and Lincoln were driving back to Polis on Saturday night, so they decided Friday was the best time to have a party, which Bellamy insisted he didn’t want. Miller took the day off with Nate anyway, and Jasper closed up shop for the night, so all of them were available.

Bellamy kept vehemently arguing that he didn’t want a birthday party, until Miller told him that if he didn’t shut up he would hire a skywriter to fly over Arkadia and invite the whole city for dinner.

Wells was supposed to meet them at the apartment, but he never showed, texting Bellamy to tell him to make up an excuse for Clarke. When Bellamy asked what he was doing, he said it was a surprise, but that he couldn’t text Clarke about it, because even through exclusively written word, she could tell when he was lying. 

Bellamy believed him.

He told Clarke that Wells had been caught up at Mount Weather grading papers.

Miller and Raven had taken over the kitchen, debating whether to make chicken soup or spaghetti for lunch. Bellamy had attempted to help, but Raven told him that if he tried to do any work, she would delete all the movies on his Netflix watchlist. So he’d backed off. 

Eventually they decided on the pasta, and Bellamy had started arguing with Clarke while Miller chopped vegetables and Raven poured the drinks.

Frustratingly, he hadn’t been alone at all except to use the toilet, which was what he’d been afraid of. Even on Thursday night, when most of them went to The Dropship, Echo and Roan visited, and spent basically the whole time grilling him about his feelings for Clarke, which he still hadn't even admitted to having. He had a feeling that they’d organised it so that he wouldn’t feel abandoned, but that wasn’t his problem. He just wanted some space to himself. In fact, the only person that wasn’t annoying him at every turn was Clarke.

In truth, he was so unbelievably grateful that she was okay, that she could spend the entire afternoon repeatedly jabbing him in the chest with a fork, and he’d still find a way to be okay with it. 

That didn’t mean he was going to let her win the argument, however.

“Oh my god, Bellamy, just take the money,” she said exasperatedly, throwing up her hands and stomping to sit on the couch. 

“No,” he snapped, throwing the wad of cash back on the kitchen counter. 

“I haven’t paid you rent the whole time I lived here. I was going to do it last week, but well… I was busy being kidnapped.”

“ _Exactly!_ Kidnapping exempts you from paying rent,” he growled, leaning against the cold stovetop.

“For how long? How long do kidnapping exemptions last? A month? Two? _A year?_ ”

“Like you’re still going to be living here in a year?” He snarked, and immediately regretted it. The look of hurt on her face cut through to his bones, “I just mean, aren’t you looking for somewhere better to live?”

She pulled her knees up under her chin, “No… I… I don’t want to.”

He didn’t have a response to that. All the heightened tension in his body made his chest throb. He put a hand over his bandaged side and breathed carefully, which made Clarke’s fingers twitch like they always did when someone, usually him, was injured.

“Oh my god!” Raven yelled, “You two are ridiculous! Would you just b–”

Miller cut her off with a hand over her mouth and muttered in her ear, “Don’t say it. If you mention it to either of them, they’ll get all repressed and then it will never happen and we will all be stuck watching them circle each other forever. Is that what you want?”

Clarke and Bellamy were looking over at them in confusion, but neither of them could hear what Miller said. He removed his hand. 

Raven cleared her throat and then said, more calmly, “Would you just cut it out and watch a movie.”

“ _Smooth_ recovery,” Miller remarked sarcastically, and she trod on his foot. 

Bellamy returned his attention to Clarke, “So you’re not moving out?”

“If you don’t want me here…” She suggested.

He immediately pushed off the counter and walked over to sit beside her, “That is _not_ what I meant.”

“Good,” she whispered, before finding her voice again, “because I want to stay here.”

“For how long?” He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“As long as you’ll have me,” she admitted, and wrapped her arms even tighter around her legs, “I just… I feel safer with you around. I tried to sleep here on Tuesday, when the nurse discharged me, and I couldn’t. I had so many nightmares that I ended up staying up and watching one of your stupid documentaries with all the lights on. That’s why I spent the rest of the week in the hospital, with you.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” he brushed the hair from her eyes concernedly, and she flinched slightly at the unexpected contact. He pulled back immediately, but he couldn’t read the look that flashed across her face when he did. 

“That’s because it’s easier to be brave when you’re around.” She admitted, and she pressed her chin harder into her knees, embarrassed.

He scoffed, “I’m pretty sure you’re brave all the time. You got _yourself_ out of that cell.”

“And then Emerson found me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t…” She trailed away and almost instinctively reached for his hand. 

He opened his mouth to say something else, but Raven and Miller dumped bowls of spaghetti in their laps and the moment passed. 

Still, when their friends bundled onto the couch with them, they sat to one side, forcing Clarke to move closer to him by default. She put her feet on the ground and started picking absent-mindedly at her food, lost in thought.

“ _Ocean’s 11_ or _12 Monkeys_?” Raven asked, flicking through Bellamy and Clarke’s joint movie list to find something they’d all enjoy. 

“I get the feeling you just really want to look at Brad Pitt,” Clarke joked.

“You’re not wrong, Griffin,” she laughed, “maybe _Fight Club_ is a better choice?”

“Oh god, not again!” Clarke huffed, “Every time I go downstairs either you or Emori is watching it, I can’t believe you’re not sick of it by now!”

“Alright, no _Fight Club_ ,” there was a twinkle in Raven’s eye, “So which movie do you pick?”

“Well, _12 Monkeys_ is a masterpiece, but I’m feeling something a bit lighter, if you don’t mind,” Miller answered for her, and the other two nodded their agreement. 

“ _Ocean’s 11_ it is.”

The four of them settled in, laughing at Don Cheadle’s terrible accent and cheering for George Clooney and Brad Pitt. Bellamy definitely didn’t notice that Clarke was leaning against him for most of the movie. 

Definitely not.

* * *

* * *

When Wells finally stumbled into the apartment at 5:30 in the evening, boxes stacked up to his chin, Clarke stood up to help him.

“What took you so long? You were supposed to meet us right out of the hospital,” she chastised, but there was no bite to it, “and don’t say you were grading papers. I let Bellamy get away with the lie, ‘cause he’s injured, but you have no excuse.”

“Actually, I stopped at your Mom’s.” He thrust his chin at the boxes in his arms, almost toppling them.

“Oh?” She asked, interested. 

“Yeah, and she said that she and Marcus can’t come to dinner tonight, because they have to do something, something, mayor stuff, something, something, doctor stuff, blah, blah, blah.”

“You’re such a good listener,” she taunted playfully, and took one of the boxes. She opened it on the counter, “Oh my god! You brought my art supplies!”

“I did more than that!” Wells proclaimed proudly, “I brought all your prized possessions – your art, your old notebooks, your dad’s photo albums, your ridiculously large collection of mugs and shot glasses – all of it.”

Clarke teared up a little, “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is the traditional response,” he teased.

“Thank you, Wells. So much,” she sniffled, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Crash and burn?” 

She swatted at his arm and pulled him into a firm hug. She loved her best friend, so much, _“I missed you.”_

He didn’t say anything in response, just tightened his hold slightly, before releasing her so they could unpack her old belongings.

They carried the boxes into her room, and Wells raised an eyebrow at all the artworks in there, “Did you open a gallery that I’m not aware of?”

She snorted, “shut up.”

“I mean… wow, Clarke, this is a lot.”

“I know. It’s the first time since,” she cleared her throat, “the first time since Dad died that I’ve picked up a canvas.”

“Yeah,” Wells smiled sadly, trailing his fingers over a sketch of himself, “Seriously Clarke, you should submit some of these to a gallery somewhere – they’re good. Some of the best you’ve ever done.”

“Maybe,” she said wistfully.

“You could call the exhibit, _“Study in Digiorno”_ and just submit all the ones you did of Bellamy,” his tone was playful but he wasn't kidding about the number of Bellamy portraits, “Or are there too many of them? Is it possible for a gallery to have _too many_ paintings?”

She glared at him, “I hate you.”

“I mean, I know that you love him, but does Digiorno know that you’re low-key _obsessed_ with him?”

“I am not,” she protested, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Alright, are you trying to Dorian Gray him?” He gestured around the room, “Think if you paint enough portraits, you could capture his soul or something? Is this some dark magic, voodoo shit?”

“Y’know what? I take it back. I don’t miss you, go away,” she snarked, and threw a paintbrush in his direction.

“Fine, I will retreat to the couch, but if you don’t want Bellamy stumbling in here and finding your murder shrine–”

_“Fuck off.”_

“– then I suggest you show him yourself.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but unfortunately, as per usual, Wells was right. 

She followed him out into the kitchen, jokingly wrestling him while he tried to make coffee, then turned to face the couch, “Um… Bellamy, could you maybe… can I show you something?”

A look of confusion crossed his face but he shrugged it off, “Sure.”

He limped slowly after her into her room. As she closed the door behind them, she caught a glimpse of Wells, Raven and Miller furiously whispering, and heard something about _‘the bet’_. She was absolutely going to grill Wells about that later, but right now, Bellamy was standing next to her desk, gazing around in shock. 

She hovered nervously, trying not to panic. Maybe it was weird that she’d drawn him and painted him so much. Maybe he would think she was crazy, and not want to live with her anymore. It didn’t help things that she’d added at least three more since Raven had seen them. 

“Um,” she started, “so, I’ve been painting a lot since I moved in here.”

His mouth fell open slightly, but he didn’t answer, he just kept looking. 

“And I guess I’ve painted you maybe more than I’ve painted everyone else.”

He nodded.

“Which has a lot to do with us being friends, but also a lot to do with why I couldn’t work out what felt weird in my head, do you remember me saying I painted to figure it out?”

He nodded again.

“Well, I did most of these then…”

His mouth closed, but his eyes were still darting all over the room.

“And I did a couple after that. And I did that one,” she pointed at the large sketch by the window, of Bellamy in his pyjamas, leaning against a wall, and his gaze followed her finger, “the other night, when I was here by myself. I didn’t want to admit that I was scared to be alone. So instead of calling someone, I just… drew you.”

He stepped closer to it, examining it, but his face was still torturously unreadable. 

She shrunk into herself a little, “Everyone else is here too – there’s Miller and Nate, there’s Murphy and Emori… Raven, Octavia, Wells and Me, my dad.”

She was listing them off just to fill the silence now.

“There’s you and Raven when we helped her move in,” she pointed at the sketch and his head shifted to look at it, “and there’s you, Miller and Murphy at The Dropship. And that one is from Game Night, when I crushed everyone at Mortal Kombat.”

Sure enough, there was a large, unfinished, painting on her desk of their whole group of friends in Mortal Kombat-style outfits, in various states of injury, looking up at Clarke, who was holding her fist high in triumph, with the red ‘FATALITY’ above her.

He squinted at it, eyes raking over every inch of the canvas.

“I haven’t really painted since my dad died, but living here, and being around my friends, reminded me why I used to love it so much.”

He continued to stare.

“Oh my god, Bellamy, say something! ANYTHING.” She gasped, wringing her hands together, and he seemed to snap out of whatever reverie he was in. 

He whipped his head around to meet her eyes, “Clarke…”

“Do you–”

“ _Clarke_. These are _incredible_.” If the words hadn’t made it clear, the look on his face sure did. He was gazing at her, awestruck: a combination of joy, astonishment and something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

“You like them?” She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you kidding me? Of course I like them! No-one’s ever painted me before. And it helps that you’re _amazing_ at it,” he breathed, glancing around again. 

“You really think so?”

He leaned closer and drew her in for a hug, “Honestly, Clarke, I love them.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, with Bellamy’s strong arms around her waist, and her hands grasping each other at his back, holding him close. 

Clarke was just beginning to think that she could stay that way forever, when there was a loud commotion outside, which made them jump, and then jump apart. 

Bellamy was closest to the door, so he yanked it opened and shuffled through the kitchen and into the living room. Clarke took a deep breath before she followed, trying to get her heart rate under control. 

The ruckus seemed to have been caused by the entrance of the delinquents into their small apartment. 

Jasper was balancing two bongs and a collection of DVDs in his arms, and around his feet were a bunch of M&Ms, which had fallen off the top of his pile and scattered across the floor. Monty was giving Harper a piggyback, and they were both giggling, which it turned out was because Monty had a handful of peanuts and was chucking them upwards in the vain hope that Harper would catch them in her mouth. 

Monty just gave up and chucked all of them at once, flinging them everywhere, and adding to the mess on the floor. They all started laughing, which only intensified when they noticed Bellamy and Clarke standing awkwardly by the couch. 

“You two work it out yet?” Raven asked, grinning.

“Work out what?” Clarke exchanging a glance with Bellamy to confirm that he was just as out of the loop as she was.

“Forget it,” she said, and all of their friends started giggling again. 

Luckily, Octavia and Lincoln arrived and Octavia shoved past them to get to the kitchen and put the container in her arms down on the counter. She shouted over her shoulder as she went, “I can’t believe that you _disasters_ are my closest friends!”

“Join the club,” Bellamy muttered, and she smacked his shoulder.

“I have, it’s called being a Blake,” she kissed his cheek. She pulled Clarke into a warm embrace, which was unexpected but not unwelcome, and walked back over to stand with Lincoln, who nodded politely at Bellamy. 

“I believe you owe me an overprotective brother speech?” He asked.

Octavia jumped in, “Although I wouldn’t bother.”

“Just because you’re going to ignore it, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give it,” Bellamy said tiredly.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Octavia and Lincoln exchanged a glance, “You shouldn’t bother because Clarke did it for you.”

Clarke suddenly became very interested in her nails.

“She what?” Bellamy turned to look at her, amused, but she avoided his eyes.

“Oh yeah, it was terrifying,” Lincoln nodded. 

“What did she say?” Bellamy asked, still staring at her. 

“Well I can’t remember the exact words,” Lincoln said, and Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. 

Unluckily, Jasper piped up, “Oh, I can!”

“Shut up Jasper,” Clarke groaned.

He only grinned gleefully back at her and pitched his voice higher for a ridiculous Clarke impression, _“Lincoln Woods, you seem like a great guy, and I really like you. I’m really glad that Octavia found someone she’s so happy with, and I’m thankful to you for helping to save my life. But if you ever do anything to hurt Octavia, I will drive to Polis, break down your door, rip out your intestines and use them to garotte you, all while singing ‘Smooth Criminal’, and I will never be caught. I’m not a doctor anymore, the Hippocratic oath means nothing to me. I mean it Lincoln, I will murder you. Slowly.”_

She covered her face with her hands as her friends laughed, but she peeked at Bellamy, who was looking at her with that same unreadable expression from earlier. 

“I didn’t mean to steal your thunder,” she said helplessly, shrugging. 

His face finally broke into a grin, “No, that’s about how I would have put it. But Lincoln, I was in the military – I can kill you with my bare hands.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lincoln smiled back, holding his hand out for Bellamy to shake.

Miller and Bryan arrived, carrying bottles of alcohol from The Dropship, along with Murphy and Emori. Emori was wearing make-up, which to Clarke’s knowledge was a first, and Murphy was… oh my god was Murphy smiling?! Not smirking, or teasing, but actually beaming at the woman beside him. Clarke’s heart warmed a little. 

Echo and Roan were close behind them, dressed up nicer than Clarke expected, but then, everyone had been. Echo was in a dress, and she looked stunning. It made Clarke feel monumentally underdressed in her jeans and pretty blouse: Roan even looked like he’d brushed his hair. 

Echo slinked forward and kissed Bellamy on the cheek, wrapping her arm around his waist, “Congratulations on not being dead, Blake.”

“Congratulations on not wearing pants,” he fired back, “didn’t you say once, and I quote, _‘over your dead body, Blake’_ when I told you that the event we were going to was formal wear and you had to wear a dress?”

“I did. Everyone else brought you a present and I couldn’t think of anything that I could give you that you couldn’t get from someone else.” 

Was it Clarke’s imagination or did Echo’s eyes shift to her for a minute when she spoke?

“So my present is you in a dress? I’m flattered,” he grinned and leaned in ostentatiously, “you should never wear pants again.”

“Gross, Bell,” Octavia said, and he rolled his eyes. Clarke became dimly aware of her friends looking at her as though she’d be offended that Bellamy was openly flirting with Echo. To be fair, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous. Was she really that obvious, or had Wells managed to tell everyone?

“I agree with Bellamy,” Clarke said, looking Echo up and down appreciatively, “Echo looks smoking hot in a dress.”

“It’s a pity you’re taken, Griffin, I wouldn’t have minded spending a few nights in your company,” Echo flirted back, and Clarke blinked, surprised. Even _Echo_ knew how she felt, and she'd known her for barely a week.

“What?” Bellamy asked, confused, but Miller quickly stepped in.

“I ordered the pizza, it’ll be here in a few minutes, so I suggest we crack open the alcohol and put on some tunes.”

“And give Bellamy his presents!” Jasper said excitedly, holding a badly wrapped box under one arm.

Bellamy groaned, “I said I didn’t want presents.”

“Which only _guaranteed_ that we’d get you presents,” Raven teased.

Clarke nodded, “Obviously. Have you learned nothing from being friends with Jasper for four years?”

He just grumbled and flopped onto the couch, leaning heavily against the armrest. Clarke tried not to worry about it too much, but it was obvious, at least to her, that he was having a harder time than he was letting on.

Clarke turned to help Raven pour the drinks, and Jasper plugged his phone into the speaker, loudly explaining that he’d compiled a list of Bellamy’s favourite songs, while his friends arranged themselves in his living room. 

Octavia curled up in Lincoln’s lap in the armchair to his left, Miller and Bryan took a beanbag each, fingers intertwined, and Monty and Harper sat on the floor directly in front of the couch, resting their backs against the TV stand.

Roan dragged some chairs from the dining table and moved them into the space between the beanbags and the couch. He sat in one of them and Murphy and Emori took the other two, Emori draping her legs over Murphy’s seductively. 

Wells disappeared into Clarke’s room and emerged with the small stool she used when painting under one arm, shoving the ottoman from the end of her bed into the room with his knees. He sat on the stool and offered the ottoman to Echo. She flashed a smile at him, but he barely noticed, because across the room, Roan was running a hand through his hair. 

Jasper turned up the music and took Echo’s other side.

_“This is the house that Jack built, y'all…”_

Bellamy locked eyes with him immediately.

 _“Remember this house!”_ He joined in with Aretha, and Jasper followed soon after.

_“This was the land that he worked by hand, this was the dream of an upright man.”_

Monty and Harper starting belting too, and it turned out that all of them knew the song, and by the time Raven and Clarke started distributing drinks, everyone was singing along.

_“This was the room that was filled with love, this was a love that I was proud of, this was a life of a love I planned, of a love and a life we loved…”_

Jasper was halfway to his feet when Clarke put his drink on the table and the two of them practically yelled it at each other, _“Of the house that Jack built. Remember this house!”_

Jasper twirled her and she stepped around the table to dance with him. The two of them darted around their friends, spinning and twisting until the song finished. Everyone cheered and Clarke took the only remaining place – between Raven and Bellamy on the couch – her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright.

* * *

* * *

The pizza arrived a minute later, and all of them started devouring slices; without the music it would have seemed too quiet, but there were 80s rock ballads playing and Jasper was making almost sexual noises at his pepperoni.

Watching Clarke dance with Jasper had reminded him of how many mornings he’d woken up to find her humming along to a playlist in the kitchen, darting around rhythmically while she made coffee and waited for him. 

How many of those morning had she turned around to find him there, and turned up the music, forcing him to join in while he cooked? He had to admit, after the first couple, she wasn’t really forcing him anymore; he loved singing and dancing badly with her in the kitchen, rolling their eyes at each other. He couldn’t wait to do that again.

Bellamy smiled. 

Clarke nudged him, “What’s that face for?”

“What face? This is just my face,” he said innocently, but his lips were still quirked upwards.

“No it isn’t,” Miller agreed, “you’re _smiling_.”

“Shut up Miller, I smile!” He protested.

“Not like that you don’t,” Octavia pointed out and he felt his face heat up.

“I have never seen your face make that expression,” Monty said, and Jasper nodded.

“Yeah, and we’ve known you for four years,” Harper agreed.

Roan and Echo glanced at each other and then Echo quirked an eyebrow at him like a challenge, “We’ve seen it. So has Murphy. Never quite like _that_ though.”

It took Bellamy a moment to realise what she was talking about, and then he felt his heart constrict a little. She was referring to Gina. He gave her a warning look, “So what’s this I’ve heard about presents?”

If his friends caught the subject change, they didn’t mention it. Roan shrugged and handed him an envelope. It was full of money, a massive wad of fifty-dollar bills. 

“Uh, no,” he said, trying to hand it back. 

“I will burn that money before I let you give it back,” Roan pushed the hand away, “it’s from my trust fund, and you know I exclusively use it for things my mother would hate. Giving it to you for your medical bills seems appropriate, she hates you.”

He snorted and put the money on the table. He’d try and find a way to sneak it out of the apartment later. 

Harper leaned forward next, handing him an almost flat rectangle that was wrapped really neatly in blue paper.

He gently pulled it off and found a framed photo inside. It was all of them in the booth, minus Roan and Echo of course. The night he’d punched Finn. 

Jasper was on the end, feet perched on the table, grinning at the camera. Monty and Harper were beside him, curled up against each other happily, and next to them was Wells, looking positively ecstatic. Clarke was on his left, her arm draped over his shoulders, and Bellamy was next to her, and they were the only two people in the photo not looking at the camera. They were glaring at each other, and he remembered it was because Clarke had jabbed him in the ribs before the photo, so he’d pinched her knees in retaliation. He looked closer and it became clear that the glare was teasing; Clarke’s lips were quirked up in amusement, and he was squinting at her the way he always did when he was trying not to laugh. On his left was Miller, who was resting his head on Bryan’s shoulder, then Raven, throwing up bunny ears behind them, then Emori, who was licking Murphy’s irritated face, almost making him fall out of the booth. 

It was a perfect photo, the perfect expression of their group of friends, and Bellamy almost felt himself get a little choked up, “Thanks Harper, this is… this is perfect.”

“Is that a tear I see, Bellamy Blake?” Raven challenged. 

He blinked a few times, “Of course not.”

“Aw, you guys, he loves us!” Harper beamed. 

“I do not, shut up,” he grumbled, and they all knew he was lying. 

Monty handed him a box set of everything Joss Whedon had ever made, while grumbling, “because you can’t just stream them, like a normal person.”

“I do stream them, I just really like having the DVDs around. Thanks Monty.”

Clarke was next, lifting a heavy box out from under the couch and depositing it on his lap. When he pulled off the lid, he found old books in mint condition, entire collections of authors: Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, the Bronte Sisters, Pruste, Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson and Plato. He looked up at her in amazement and she shrugged. 

“Don’t look so excited, it didn’t cost me anything. They were my dad’s, I picked them up the other day.”

He folded his arms over his chest, “You’re giving me Jake’s books?”

“Yeah, I know it’s really lazy, but I figured you’d want something to remember him by, and I have loads of stuff, and I’ve read them all already, and we live together so it’s not like they’ll vanish altogether, and… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because _you’re giving me Jake’s books_ ,” he said slowly, deliberately, so that she would pick up on the magnitude of the gesture she’d just made. 

“So you like them?” A look of relief washed over her. 

“Like them? Clarke, I don’t even know what to say, this is… I can’t wait to read every single one of these.”

“To be fair, you’ve definitely read most of the Jane Austen,” she poked his arm to relieve some of the tension that had built up between them and he chuckled.

“So Clarke wins best gift?” Octavia asked jokingly, throwing a rolled-up napkin at Clarke, who stuck her tongue out at her. 

Octavia handed a small parcel over and he opened it to find a fairly nice watch. It wasn’t too extravagant, but it was nicer than the one he’d broken a while ago, and on the face was written, in her familiar scrawl:

_Bellamy ‘denial is not just a river in Africa’ Blake_

“I hate you,” he hissed at her, but she only laughed.

“That one’s from both of us – Lincoln picked the watch and I picked the message.”

“What does it mean?” Clarke asked, leaning over to look at it.

He cleared his throat, “Nothing, just one of O’s in-jokes.”

Octavia’s smug expression was torture, and it really didn’t help his case that Clarke was still leaning against him to look at the watch.

Miller handed Clarke a bottle of Kraken Spiced Rum with a pointed look at his best friend, and Bellamy frowned in confusion.

“This is more for your sanity than anything else,” Nate explained.

 _“Oh.”_ He realised. 

“What?” Clarke asked, turning the bottle over in her hands. 

He cleared his throat, “Uh, this is… this is your favourite rum. Miller bought you a bottle of your favourite rum so that you don’t drive me crazy.”

Clarke burst out laughing, her head lolling back against the sofa, but managed to get herself under control enough to say, “How do you know this is my favourite?”

“Because whenever I’ve given you that one, you always sit and enjoy it. The ones you don’t like, you tend to just knock them back.”

She nodded along with his explanation, still sporadically giggling.

Wells’ present came in the form of a cardboard box sailing into his face, and when he finally refocussed his eyes, he wanted to throttle his friend. His jaw twitched as he looked up and then it was Wells’ turn to fall about laughing, until Bellamy threw the present back at him. The jumbo-sized pack of condoms bounced off his head and landed next to Monty, who looked slightly mortified.

“I thought they might come in handy,” Wells said innocently. 

“Fuck you, Wells,” Bellamy growled, which only made Wells laugh harder. 

“Oh, Bell, we all know it’s not me you want to–”

“I upgraded your record player!” Raven interrupted loudly.

“That’s really sweet of you, Raven, thanks,” he said, trying to communicate that he was thanking her for more than one thing. 

“Happy birthday, and all that jazz,” she wiggled her fingers at him and he smiled. 

Jasper finally put the badly wrapped present on the table, grinning from ear to ear, “This one’s from me and Murphy.”

The room seemed to freeze solid. Everyone just let their mouths drop open as they stared between Jasper, Murphy and the box. 

“Is it a bomb?” Raven tried to joke, like it wasn’t a _legitimate concern_. 

“No, it’s…” Jasper pushed it forward, “just open it.”

Bellamy tentatively ripped the wrapping off, to find that it wasn’t a box, but rather a stack of records, and lots of them. 

The first was Otis Redding, and there was an unmistakeable tear in the bottom right corner, right next to the name, _Aurora_ , in scratchy print. He couldn’t formulate a sentence, couldn’t even fathom how Jasper had managed it. 

“How…?” He breathed, tears trailing down his cheeks, “Jasper, I’ve been looking for _years_. How on earth did you…?”

“Like I said, Murphy helped. We’ve been working on it for months, trying to find all of them before your birthday.”

Wells looked around at everyone, “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“When our mother died, we had to sell everything,” Octavia said, and she was crying too, “furniture, books, all of it, but Bellamy was so upset about the vinyl. We used to dance around to it when we were younger, when my dad wasn’t around as much. Mom used to sing along to them, and god, Bellamy, do you remember how good her voice was? She could have been a singer, she really could. I think we were hoping that no-one would want to buy a battered, second-hand vinyl collection, but people did. They got scattered, and when Bellamy finally got a job and a place of his own, he tried to track some of them down, but he could never find them.”

"It's part of the reason he hates his birthday so much," Murphy added, "because his birthday is only a few days before his the anniversary of Aurora's death, and not only was he losing _her_ stuff, but he had to sell every present he got. It's just another reminder of how much his life sucked before he met us."

“That was part of the reason Jasper and I got so close so fast,” Bellamy mumbled, trying to keep his voice steady, “because I spent a bunch of afternoons in his shop, looking through every section of the store trying to find any of them. I can’t believe… I can’t believe you found them.”

“Murphy did most of the work; he drove out to stores halfway across the country to pick individual records up, and he managed to keep it all a complete secret from you, which I was having a lot of trouble with,” Jasper admitted. 

“You’re both just…” he trailed away. Nothing he said was going to sound big enough, so he just pressed his face into his hands and tried to stop crying. 

After a moment, Clarke encircled his right arm with both of hers, resting her forehead on his shoulder comfortingly. 

His friends knew him well enough to know he wasn’t talking about it because he physically couldn’t, and for a moment that stretched out forever, comfortably so, everyone sat in silence as the speakers played,

__

_“For every road we can’t retrace, for every memory we can’t face, for every name that’s been erased, let’s have another round…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY, IF YOU'VE MADE IT THIS FAR YOU DESERVE A MEDAL!  
> Or at least a prize of some kind... how does some Bellarke fluff and angst sound? Because that's what the entire rest of this story is!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you all for the kudos and I love reading your comments.


	22. He Never Saw It Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy realises he has feelings for Clarke - and all of his friends have been well aware for some time. 
> 
> Except Clarke, who's experiencing some inner turmoil of her own.

### 

_He never, ever saw it_  
_Coming at all_  
_He never, ever saw it_  
_Coming at all_  
_He never, ever saw it_  
_Coming at all_  
_It's alright, it's al-_  
_Right, it's alright._  
  
_No one's got it all_  
  
**Hero - Regina Spektor**

The next morning, everyone was hung over. Bellamy woke up in his own room, thank god, and rolled over to find Raven and Jasper in bed with him, looking as bad as he felt. 

He remembered after he’d opened his presents that they’d all sat for a minute and let him work through his emotions. It had lasted a couple of songs, until Sinatra’s version of _I Won’t Dance_ (which had started many an argument between him and Clarke, because she was convinced that Fred Astaire’s was the best version and he couldn’t stand for that kind of blasphemy) started playing. Clarke had gripped his arm a little tighter and said, “C’mon, let’s dance.”

It hadn’t taken long for his tears to dry once everyone was on their feet, swapping partners every few bars and singing along to the songs they knew. Clarke, Jasper and Bellamy knew all the words to all the songs, but that was to be expected. 

Then the drinking had really begun in earnest.

Jasper and Monty opted to get high, and Roan joined them enthusiastically. He even managed to convince Wells, who shyly agreed, flushing slightly, which prompted Clarke to tease her best friend mercilessly. She stopped, however, when he said, “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to start teasing _you_ now?” 

Clarke and Bellamy had managed to stay sober for the longest, until Wells and Raven ganged up on them, arguing that of all of them, they had the most right to get drunk. 

Eventually, they ended up throwing back shots while Jasper chanted, _“Mom and Dad, Mom and Dad, Mom and Dad!”_

Monty and Harper started kissing in the corner and Jasper made a show of pretending to be surprised while everyone else cheered. 

At some point, Roan and Wells were lying on the kitchen floor together, chatting about life and love and philosophy.

Miller and Bryan got slowly and steadily drunker together, unmoved from the beanbags.

The music was loud and the food was good and the drinks were cold, and Bellamy might have let himself get a little drunker than he intended to. 

Raven convinced him to knock back half a bottle of vodka and after than he was pretty much hopeless. 

Octavia and Lincoln had dominated the game of charades that Jasper had started, and when it switched to Truth or Dare, Clarke admitted that she could tie a knot in cherry stems with her tongue, which led to an apartment-wide search for cherries.

His memories got a little hazy once the vodka kicked in, and he couldn't remember how he ended up in bed at all. He was brought out of his ruminations by Echo knocking on the door as she entered.

“Morning soldier,” she poked at him until he moved over enough for her to get in bed with him. 

“Fuck you,” he grumbled, pulling the covers over them both. He expected her to retaliate with something suitably barbed, but she didn't. 

She only smiled, running her hands through his hair, “You’re a good man, Bellamy Blake.”

He did a double-take.

“I’m sorry, who are you and what have you done with Echo? Why are you being nice?” He asked, eyes wide. 

“Because you’ve spent too many years not letting yourself be happy, and Clarke makes you happy, and… I don’t want you to let her slip through your fingers just because you’re too busy being wrapped up in self-loathing. You love her, just admit it.”

He grimaced, “It’s not like that, Echo.”

She kneed him in the groin and he bent forward in pain, which was enough movement to jolt Raven and Jasper awake.

“What the fuck was that for?” He barked. 

“Because you’re being moronic, we all know you’re in love with Clarke. You’re actually the only one who doesn’t seem to be aware. Well, you and Clarke.”

“Fuck you,” he grumbled again, but there was no fight in it this time.

“You know I’m right,” she quirked her eyebrow at him, "Why do you think I dressed up last night?"

He frowned in confusion, "I... what?"

"I wanted to make sure your feelings for Clarke were real, and they are. I was offering myself up in a tight dress, and all you could look at, all night, was Clarke." 

"Don't be ridiculous," he tried, but his resolve was weakening.

"Well, we could spend the morning arguing about it," Echo suggested, “or, would you rather…?”

She didn’t finish the sentence, trailing her fingers down his chest, getting dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers. He gripped her hand and yanked it away from him. 

“No.”

“Why? You’ve never said no before,” she pointed out, and she was right. After Gina died, he’d spiralled a little, and Echo had been there to comfort him, which had eventually turned into something else. They had both known it wasn’t romantic, not even close – they were just hurting, and sleeping together was an easy way to relieve the tension. She had always been the friend who kicked him up the ass though, because she wanted him to get better, to be better. 

“Because Raven and Jasper are right here.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind joining in,” Raven winked suggestively.

“I’ve always wanted to see you naked, Bellamy,” Jasper mumbled tiredly, his eyes barely open. 

Echo grinned, “There you go, we can do what we like.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She challenged.

“You know why!” He snapped without thinking, and then immediately closed his eyes in defeat. 

He just couldn't deny it anymore, even to himself. 

He loved Clarke Griffin. 

Of course he did. If he was being honest with himself, he'd loved her from the day she moved into his apartment. That was the day he'd realised how well they worked together, how easy it was to let her in. It had suddenly felt ridiculous to him that he could have ever disliked her, because they complimented each other in almost every way. The longer she'd lived there, the harder it had been to dismiss his growing feelings for her, but when she was kidnapped... It had made him realise that he couldn't live without her, and he didn't know what would have happened to him if they hadn't gotten her back. 

He loved Clarke Griffin.

His heart stuttered when he was next to her, and it warmed when she smiled at him, and it had ached when she was missing. She had seared herself onto his soul, and he resented her for it, because now he couldn't stop thinking about her, and about how she didn't feel the same way.

“We all do, jackass,” Echo said, pinching his ear sharply and making him cry out as waves of his hangover crashed into his skull. 

“What the fuck, Echo, I did what you want, I admitted it!”

“Oh, that was just for fun,” she kissed his temple as she stood up, “go tell Clarke that you want to have her babies, or whatever mushy shit you’re supposed to say.”

“I hate you. I can't believe we're friends!” He yelled after her, and she only smiled flirtatiously at him as she left. 

“C’mon then Digiorno, spill it, how are you going to admit to Clarke that you want to be pregnant with tiny Griffins?” Jasper propped himself up on his elbows. 

Bellamy groaned and snatched the pillow out from under him, using it to cover his face, “Please just let me asphyxiate to death?”

Raven mounted him, knees either side of his hips, and yanked the cushion away, before smacking it back down into his face, “Why are you being such an idiot?”

“Get off me,” he protested. 

She hit him again, “If you’re worried about hurting Clarke, she’ll be fine. She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

“It’s not that.”

“Well what is it then, because this dance you two keep doing around each other sure is cute, but at some-point you’re gonna have to man up and tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t want to lose her, Raven.” He hated how small and pathetic he sounded. 

“Why would you lose her? You think that telling her you love her is going to, what, make her realise that you’re not the man for her? Because that’s really fucking stupid, Bellamy, even for you.”

She batted him in the face with the pillow again, and he sat up quickly, pushing her back until she was the one was lying down and he was sitting on top, pinning her arms down. 

“Why can’t you all just leave it alone!?”

“Because we love you.” Jasper said, pulling him into a hug from behind, “and we love Clarke.”

“Well then you need to let me get to this at my own pace,” he released Raven and sat back.

“Why wait? You love each other now, be with each other now,” Raven said nonchalantly. 

“You… Clarke doesn’t think of me that way, Raven,” he said quietly, and Jasper and Raven shared a look. 

“Y’know what Bellamy, you’re right, forget it,” Raven yanked Jasper off the bed, and the two of them darted out of the room, “you’re a lost cause.”

* * *

When he finally dragged himself from his room, showered and dressed, his head was pounding. He needed coffee and aspirin, ASAP. In fact, his head was aching so badly that he could barely feel the dull pain in his leg, or the twinges in his chest. 

He surveyed his apartment. Murphy and Emori were already awake, helping Jasper and Raven in the kitchen. All of them were moving sluggishly except Jasper, who seemed to have completely shrugged off his hangover within minutes of waking up. 

Bellamy handed Echo a clean towel and she moved towards the bathroom to shower. 

Monty and Harper had fallen asleep in each other’s arms on Clarke’s ottoman, and Octavia and Lincoln were curled up on the armchair together, barely awake and looking the picture of serenity. Miller and Bryan had ducked out to Nate’s apartment to take showers, according to Jasper, to make it easier for the rest of them to get up, but they’d be back in time for breakfast. 

He was surprised to find Clarke asleep on the couch, rather than in her room, and he sat down next to her, “Clarke?”

She frowned a little, shifting in her sleep, and he brushed her hair out of her face, resting his palm on the side of her face. He almost couldn't help it - now that he knew he loved her, he just wanted to be close to her.

“Clarke, c’mon, time to get up,” he murmured.

“Urgh, but I don’t want to,” she cracked an eye open, and it was crinkling in a smile before it made it to her lips. 

“Neither do I, and I’m pretty sure I’m more hungover than you,” he said.

She poked his cheek, “Oh you definitely are, I stopped drinking at midnight.”

He pretended to be offended, “Et tu, Brutus? I thought we agreed to both get drunk?”

“Yeah,” she said sheepishly, “but the more drunk you got, the more worried I was that you would hurt yourself, so I just sorta stopped.”

“It’s not your job to be worried about me, Princess,” he said softly.

“Whose job is it then?” She asked, and she had him stumped there. “You spend your whole life worrying about everyone else, why shouldn’t I worry about you?”

He swallowed and brushed his thumb over her cheek, unable to formulate a response, so instead he asked, “Why are you on the couch?”

She winced, “Wells and Roan are in my room.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

“Yeah. So I decided it was probably safer to sleep out here.”

“Good call. You could have always slept in my room though, Raven and Jasper did.”

She looked as though she wanted to say something serious, but changed direction, “I know, Jasper proudly announced that you were going to have a threesome.”

“Of course he did,” Bellamy laughed and she smiled up at him.

“Although between you and me, I think Jasper has a thing for the girl that works at the bakery down the street from _Vinyl Frontier_ ,” Clarke whispered, loud enough for the man himself to hear her from his place by the stove. 

He spun around, pancake hanging out of his mouth, “ _Clarke!_ I told you that in confidence!”

“You also yelled it out of the bathroom window last night, so I think the statute of limitations on that secret has passed,” she said breezily, sitting up. Bellamy let his hand fall off her cheek and onto her shoulder, but he didn't remove it from her person altogether. 

“Strangers in the night aren’t the same thing,” Jasper moaned, but he was beaming as he shoved the rest of the pancake in his mouth.

“What’s her name?” Bellamy asked, offering Clarke a hand and pulling her to her feet. 

“Maya,” Murphy said, “and he hasn’t shut up about her for weeks. Every time I went over to ask about Aurora’s records, it was, _‘she’s so pretty!’_ and _‘we have the same taste in music!’_ and _‘do you think I should ask her out?’_. Honestly, she let him take a free cupcake one day and he gushed about it for an hour.”

“And what was your response to everything I said?” Jasper asked expectantly, rounding on Murphy, spatula in hand. 

Murphy grinned wolfishly, “I don’t care.”

“Exactly! You were no help at all!”

Nate and Bryan returned just as Monty and Harper woke up, and Echo emerged from the shower. Clarke took it next, and Raven went in after her, leaving Bellamy to watch over the kitchen. Jasper was gesticulating wildly in his conversation with Emori, waving the batter-laden spatula like a conductor.

On any other day, Bellamy would have growled at him to put it down, but he was in a great mood. His family was in his kitchen to celebrate his birthday, making breakfast and cracking jokes. He had never had a birthday like this, not ever. He usually tried to downplay its existence, and in their first year of friendship, when they had found out that they'd missed his birthday, Jasper had been furious. They'd taken him out for drinks at a club in the city center, and he didn't remember much about the night as a whole. He'd managed to convince them afterwards that being at work with them there was enough for him, and every birthday since had been spent like that. Octavia knew it as well as he did, and she kept making amused faces at him from her place in Lincoln’s lap. 

“Pancakes are up!” Monty called out, “Everyone take a plate!”

He grabbed his own and moved down into his place on the couch. Clarke sat next to him, as usual, but this time he was hyperaware of it. He was trying to think of every time she’d ever chosen to sit next to him when she could sit anywhere, trying to think of all the little moments they’d had that might mean she felt the same way. 

She bumped him with her shoulder and pointed across his face, “Turns out you are not the most hungover member of this dysfunctional family.”

He followed her finger, and realised she was pointing at Wells and Roan, who had only just emerged from her room. Roan looked alright, but Wells looked really rough – there were bags under his eyes, which were barely open, and he was holding his hands over his ears. 

Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s coffee and clinked it to hers, which made Wells wince and then glare at her. The loud noise made Bellamy’s head hurt too, but he was far too entertained by Wells’ misery to notice.

“Morning bestie, how was your night?” Clarke asked in a sickly-sweet voice. 

“It was great. Unfortunately, it had to become today, which is horrible,” Wells whined.

“Have some coffee, you’ll feel better,” Bellamy suggested. 

“Yeah, and when you’re feeling better, you can come and tell us all the juicy details about Roan,” Raven piped up, a pleased look on her face. 

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Wells asked, even as Roan handed him a mug of coffee and guided him to the couch. 

“Absolutely not,” Clarke said, at the same time as Raven said,

“Never.”

Wells shot a pleading glance at Bellamy, who shrugged, “Sorry man, you’re on your own.”

“Firstly, how big is Roan’s penis? Bigger than Bellamy’s?” Jasper joined in.

“Urgh, Jasper I don’t know, I haven’t seen Bellamy naked,” Wells tried to roll his eyes but it made his head ache, so he settled for glaring at everyone. 

“I have,” Echo and Raven said in unison. 

Miller and Murphy raised their hands, "Yep."

“So have I,” Roan made eyes at him and Bellamy thrust his chin at him suggestively.

“Yep. On base, most people were pretty relaxed about nudity. I think we both know who wins,” Bellamy said.

Roan nodded.

“Who?” Jasper asked. 

“None of your business, Jasper.” Roan said, “A lady never kisses and tells.”

“Stop encouraging them,” Wells groaned.

Roan kissed his cheek and said jokingly, “sorry babe.”

“What I want to know is what combination of alcohol you drank that made you _so_ hungover?” Miller asked. 

Clarke snorted, “Wells is just a lightweight.”

“I am not,” he protested.

“Wells, you once got drunk on a _single Jell-O shot_.”

“That is a blatant lie,” he grouched, but everyone was interested now, and Clarke started telling stories from their high school days, getting periodically interrupted by the delinquents, who added stories from college. 

That was followed by Miller telling some equally embarrassing ones about the delinquents, who in turn recounted tales of Miller on nights off, and Bellamy on bad days, who countered with some stories about Octavia. She retaliated by sharing details of her sex life with Lincoln while Bellamy blocked his ears and chanted, _“I’m not here,”_ until she stopped. 

The gauntlet was then picked up by Echo, who told stories about Roan and Bellamy from their army days, and Roan fired back with a few choice anecdotes of his own, not least of which was the night Echo and Bellamy first slept together, which had apparently involved A LOT of tequila. Echo fired back a story about Roan’s first girlfriend and how he’d cheated on her with a boy because, _“he didn’t think it counted”_ , to which Roan brought up stories about Miller and Murphy. Murphy took the challenge seriously and told a harrowing story about his first night out of juvie with Bellamy, when they'd gotten blind drunk, who in turn told a story about Clarke.

“We’d been living together for maybe a week, and I got home from work, and I’d brought a woman with me. It was the first time I’d done that with Clarke living here, so I was worried she was going to be upset, or that it would be awkward, but she just stayed in her room and made no indication that she could hear us. Up until the girl started to get,” he cleared his throat, “vocal, and then I could hear faint classical music coming from her room. The louder the girl got, the louder the classical music got, and vice versa. Anyway, an hour or so later, I went to tell Clarke that she didn’t have to worry about it anymore, and I knocked on her door, but every time I started to talk she just kept turning up the volume, cutting me off. So I gave up and went to bed.”

“That’s nothing, when he brought Raven home, I did the same thing, played my classical music louder and louder, but little did he know that I had headphones in playing _"What’s Up"_ by 4 Non Blondes on a loop while I painted. He could hear the classical music better than I could.”

He laughed and draped an arm over her shoulder so he could explain, “I wouldn’t count on it, Raven was right next to my ears, and she was…”

“I’m loud,” Raven admitted, “but only because it’s so much fun.”

Echo quirked an eyebrow at her from across the room, “I like loud.”

“Anytime you want to step into my arena and go a few rounds, I’m game,” Raven said, “But fair warning, I’ll win.”

Echo maintained her eye contact, and the sexual tension in the room went up by a few tangible notches. 

“I don’t think sex is a competition,” Monty said, bemused. 

“It is if you’re doing it right,” Raven teased, her eyes never leaving Echo’s.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Monty reminded her.

“Not exactly, Wick and I are fairly casual,” Raven explained, “Although I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I brought Echo into the shop one afternoon.”

“Right, well, now that literally all of us are paired off with each other, I’d say we’ve successfully made the delinquents quite incestuous,” Jasper said, “I’m the only single person left! We have become a group of couple friends. We’ll have to start going to brunches and eating kale.”

Everyone started booing and throwing things at him. Clarke and Bellamy glanced at each and quickly looked away.

“Well maybe Maya will go out with you?” Octavia suggested, and Jasper blushed. 

“You’re the only one who thinks so. They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer,” Jasper joked, and Miller picked up an empty can and launched it at him. He pretended to be offended, “no beers for Miller.”

“We have to go soon,” Octavia said pensively. 

“I know,” Bellamy said, and she jumped out of Lincoln’s lap and flopped into his, “Ow, fucking- why?”

“Because I’m glad you’re okay, big brother,” she said, looping her arms around his neck.

“So you decided to injure me some more?”

“Of course, I’m still your sister,” she reminded him and he hugged her back. She kissed his cheek, “I’ll miss you, but I’ll call you on your birthday, and on the anniversary. I’m sure I’ll be back in town in a month or two anyway, chasing up criminals.”

“Feel free to bring Lincoln with you,” Bellamy said, looking over at the man, “I don’t like that he’s dating you, but I do like him.”

Lincoln chuckled, “I think I’ll be picking up a lot of extra shifts for the time being, seeing as I helped a bunch of vigilantes rescue someone in a different city. But we'll go out for drinks sometime.”

He helped Octavia to her feet and shook Bellamy’s hand. Clarke stood to walk them to the door.

“Take care of my brother, Clarke,” Octavia said.

“Always,” Clarke said, an almost wistful smile on her face. 

“And you, jackass, take care of Clarke,” she called back to him. 

“Always,” he echoed. 

Octavia leaned in and whispered something to Clarke as she left, which made Clarke flush pink and stutter.

_“I don’t… I’m not… It’s…”_

“Clarke, I’m not trying to freak you, I’m just trying to tell you that it’s okay, and that you don’t have to worry,” Octavia put her hands on Clarke’s shoulders reassuringly. 

“Oh. Okay,” she still sounded wary. 

Octavia sighed, “You’re family, Clarke, no matter what. Bellamy might have saved your life, but you also saved his, and I’m not gonna forget that in a hurry.”

“I hope the next time we see each other is in better circumstances,” Clarke grimaced, and Octavia gripped her arm a little tighter before turning to go with Lincoln, both of them waving as they left.

Clarke sat back down next to Bellamy, but she was noticeably further away now, and she was carrying herself very strangely. He reached out to touch her fingers, “are you okay?”

She flinched away from him slightly, “Yeah, fine.”

He watched her for a moment, but she was deliberately avoiding his eyes. 

Miller cleared his throat, “Well, I need to go open the bar, so we’ll probably go too. Murphy, do you need a lift to work?”

“Nah, I’ll meet you there,” Murphy said, taking Emori’s hand, “We’ll go get lunch first.”

“I’ve got to report back to Roan’s mother about the job we’re starting next week, so I’ll go too,” Echo explained, “but I’ll see you before I leave town, Blake, I promise.”

Echo darted out the door after Murphy and Emori, and Clarke started to look a little queasy. 

“I thought I’d explore Arkadia some more, if anyone is willing to give me a tour,” Roan stared pointedly at Wells. 

“Yeah, alright,” he started smiling, “I’ll need a shower first.”

“I can help you with that,” Roan’s eyes were quickly becoming the bedroom variety, and Wells nodded slowly.

“Your hotel have a nice bathroom, does it?” He asked innocently.

“Oh stop it, we all know you’re gonna bang; just get out of here!” Raven complained. 

“As you wish,” Roan teased Raven, hauling Wells up and carrying him out the door, bridal-style, ignoring his giggled protests. 

“I have to open up the shop at some point,” Jasper said, “but I can hang around for a little while, as long as there’s good tunes.”

Clarke, who had been looking more and more panicked as people left, perked up.

“Absolutely, stay as long as you want!” She looked around at the remaining people, something unsaid in her expression, but which they all seemed to understand. 

Jasper, Monty, Harper and Raven were the only people left in the apartment, and Clarke was chatting to all of them expressively. 

But she was completely avoiding Bellamy altogether: refusing to look at him, not letting herself touch him even though she was sitting at his side, and even avoiding directing questions at him. 

It was odd, it wasn’t like her, and he started to get worried. 

When Jasper left a few hours later, he saw the panic flare up behind her eyes again, and when Monty and Harper started talking about going home to sleep, she started wringing her hands.

Bellamy wondered why Clarke was so worried to be left alone with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short one, but the chapter was getting far too long and I had to break it up. The next chapter is full of angst and drama and awkwardness and I'm so excited to finish it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and kudos-ing and commenting, I love you all to pieces!
> 
> Come say hello to me on tumblr, I'm talistheintrovert there too, and I'm a fairly chatty introvert, if I'm honest.


	23. One Foot On The Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy argue, while both of them wrestle with their feelings towards each other.

### 

_I never loved nobody fully_  
_Always one foot on the ground_  
_And by protecting my heart truly_  
_I got lost in the sounds_  
_I hear in my mind_  
_All these voices_  
_I hear in my mind_  
_All of these words_  
_I hear in mind_  
_All this music_  
_And it breaks my heart_  
  
**Fidelity - Regina Spektor**

_“I know you’re in love with my brother, Clarke. And I’ve only seem him in love once, so you can’t take it lightly – if you love my brother, it has to be all in. He’s my family, and he was willing to die for you. Don’t let that be a bad choice on his part.”_

Octavia’s whispered words kept rocketing around her head. What was she supposed to do with that?

She had already been nervous about being alone with Bellamy now that he was home, especially since her confession to Wells in the car, but Octavia had inadvertently made that anxiety a hell of a lot worse. 

It suddenly occurred to her that they hadn’t been truly alone since before Wells had arrived at The Dropship, nearly two weeks ago. And that made her panic.

Because she couldn’t remember how to act around Bellamy anymore. How had she acted before? When she didn’t know that she loved him? Had she acted like she was in love with him without realising it? Or had she been aloof? Maybe she’d just acted like she did with Jasper or Wells? She had no idea what to do, so instead she just shrunk in on herself.

And she could tell that he noticed, and that he was worried about her, which only made it worse.

When their friends started leaving, it really set in that at some point, she was going to have to confront her feelings for Bellamy. 

Eventually, it was just Raven who remained as a buffer between the two of them and Clarke was starting to really freak out. Raven had taken over the armchair, and Clarke and Bellamy were sharing the couch, as usual, but nothing about it felt normal anymore. 

Usually, Clarke would drape her legs over Bellamy’s lap, but that felt far too intimate all of a sudden. She wasn’t sure she could handle it if he touched her. 

Which felt ridiculous – he’d been touching her all day, hell, he’d woken her up with a hand on her face – but now that it had really started to settle in that they would have the apartment to themselves soon, she was overwhelmed with the idea.

Bellamy started checking his emails on his phone, and a smile graced his face at something, which made her stomach lurch. She tried to wordlessly communicate to Raven that she was totally unable to deal with her emotions, and Raven tilted her head in response, not quite getting it.

Unfortunately, Bellamy took that moment to become really sweet, holding up his phone, “So I got you a present.” 

“Why would you get me a present for _your_ birthday?” Clarke asked, confused. 

His jaw ticked apprehensively as he steeled himself to tell her, “So I emailed a few galleries, and they’re willing to display some of your art, if you put together a few pieces.”

“What!?”

“After you showed them to me yesterday, I snuck in and took pictures of some of them and emailed them to galleries. A couple of curators got back to me, and they wanted to exhibit your art.”

She gaped at him.

“I know I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case nothing came of it,” he explained nervously. 

Raven nudged her, but she just kept wringing her hands together. God she was so screwed. She was so unbelievably head over heels for Bellamy Blake, and he wasn’t helping. He was making it worse. Goddammit. All she wanted to do was pounce on him from her side of the couch and kiss him until the sun went down. She needed to get her feelings under control, or she was _actually_ going to do it, and then she’d have to feel his rejection right after doing such a sweet thing for her, and she didn’t think her heart could take that.

He frowned, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Blake,” Raven answered for her, because she was still speechless, “you did something very right.”

He looked slightly relieved but continued to stare at Clarke with a concerned expression, and she realised she still hadn’t said anything.

“Thank you,” she found her voice, “I don’t even know what to say, I can’t believe… I… you’re…”

“Use your words, Clarke,” Raven teased, and Clarke snapped. 

“Raven, I need to talk to you,” she yanked Raven to her feet and dragged her into her room, closing the door firmly behind them. The last thing she saw was Bellamy’s confused, slightly hurt expression before she turned around and blurted out, “Raven, I’m so screwed.”

“What, why?” She asked, leaning lazily against the desk. 

“Because I’m…” She’d said it once, why was it so hard to say it again? “I’m in love with Bellamy.”

Raven’s eyes widened and she shot to her feet, “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to admit that for _weeks!_ ”

“What?! _You knew?_ ” 

“Of course I know, we all do,” Raven said patiently. 

“Everyone?” Clarke felt the blood drain from her face.

“There’s a pool,” Raven grinned. 

“Please tell me you’re joking?” 

“Absolutely not, I never joke about money,” Raven deadpanned, “It started the week you guys moved in together – they’d already written some of the bets down by the time I became your friend.”

“That was a month ago!”

Raven nodded, “I added mine that first night.”

“The first night. You bet on my love life _the day we became friends?_ ”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds bad, but yes.”

“What is this pool, what are the parameters?”

“Nope, I’m not telling you anything.”

 _“Why not?”_ Clarke hissed.

“Because I want to win the bet fair and square, and if I tell you all the things we bet on, you might not do them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Clarke grumbled. She suddenly remembered Wells’ whispering to Raven and Miller the previous day, “Wells knows about this?”

“Of course! He put 100 dollars in.”

“A HUNDRED!?” Clarke yelled, and she could hear Bellamy walking towards to door. 

“Clarke, are you okay?”

Raven was looking smugly back at her when Clarke answered, “Yeah, Bell, I’m fine.”

“Alright,” but he didn’t sound convinced. Clarke waited until his footsteps trailed into the kitchen before she opened her mouth to say something else, but Raven beat her to it. 

“Look, I’m gonna go, give you two some space,” Raven started, but Clarke’s eyes widened and she gripped the other woman’s forearms.

“Don’t you dare leave me here, I don’t know what to do!”

“With your feelings? Express them,” Raven raised an eyebrow at her. 

“The last time I expressed any feelings, it was with _your boyfriend_ , Reyes,” Clarke reminded her.

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, and who was there to pick up the pieces afterwards? Bellamy. He’s not Finn, Clarke, and you know it. You’re just afraid.”

Clarke sagged, all her energy gone, and Raven seemed to take pity on her. 

“Alright, look, I’ll stay for a while. I’ll help you pick out some paintings for these exhibits, okay? Don’t worry.”

Clarke nodded and sat down on the end of the bed, running her hands through her hair, “Okay.”

“I feel like we need more coffee, right?” Raven asked, and she nodded tiredly. Raven smiled, “I’ll go make some coffee, you start picking out contenders, and me and Bellamy will help you narrow it down, okay?”

When Raven had left the room, she heard her talking to Bellamy, but she tried to ignore it, focussing instead on her paintings. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and leant back against her bed. 

She could handle an afternoon with them in her room. She could cope with that. Maybe Raven would stay long enough that they’d just go to bed when she left. 

Her mind started drifting towards Bellamy again the second she thought about going to bed, and she couldn’t help the barrage of ideas, or the warming in her belly. She kicked out at her desk, frustrated, slamming into the wood with the heel of her foot. It buckled slightly, and splinters were suddenly visible where she’d cracked it. 

“Shit, Clarke, are you okay?” Bellamy asked, two mugs off coffee in his hands. 

She stood up and sat on the end on the end of her bed so that she wasn’t close enough to the desk to kick it again. Bellamy set the coffees down and sat beside her, gazing at her with concern, and she could feel herself getting lost in those ridiculously deep brown eyes. 

“Yeah, fine,” she mumbled, “just frustrated. Where’s Raven?”

He looked confused, “She went to Wick’s. She didn’t tell you?”

Clarke was furious, “I’m going to kill her.”

“I guess not.”

“I’m going to murder her in her sleep. She knew I was worried, and she just fucking bailed.”

“What are you worried about?” He reached across and took her hand. 

“I…”

“You’ve been acting strangely all day, and I don’t know if I did something, or…”

“No! No, you didn’t do anything,” she reassured him, “well, you did, but it’s not your fault, it’s me, I’m just, I can’t really… I don’t… _FUCK_.”

“Swearing in English, now I know something’s wrong,” he teased, and she felt a smile tweaking at the corners of her mouth. It soon fell away, once she met his eyes again.

“I can’t talk about it. Not to you.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. 

He looked offended, “Clarke, you can talk to me about anything.”

“Not this.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” she tried to come up with a good excuse, “Bellamy please, just leave it alone.”

“Okay,” he said, backing off, “Which paintings were you thinking?”

He shifted slightly to get more comfortable and grimaced, placing his palm over his side.

“You alright?” She asked, suddenly clinical. This she could understand; fixing an injury, caring for a patient, that was easy. Telling Bellamy she was in love with him was what was hard, almost impossible.

“I’m fine.” His tone was clipped, withdrawn, and for some reason it really touched a nerve.

Her good humour left her in an instant and she withdrew her hand from his and crossed her arms, “What were you thinking?!”

His expression switched from one of pain to one of shock, “What?”

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital sooner? _You nearly died_. You nearly got yourself _killed_ Bellamy! For what? Me?! What the hell were you thinking?!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I was thinking that my best friend was kidnapped and there was no point wasting time in hospital.”

“Did you stop to think that maybe if you were in a better state you would have found me sooner?” She objected, and his expression hardened.

“No, I was too busy trying to find you.” He said, sitting up straighter so he could glare at her with full force. 

“What if you’d died? What if you found me, and then you _died_? I would have had to live with that – with your death on my conscience.” Clarke bit sharply, her fear fuelling her anger. 

“Well did you stop to think that if you’d died because I couldn’t get to you in time, Clarke, I would have died too?!” He snapped, and any retort she’d been reaching for immediately died in her throat. 

She felt her heart drop into her shoes.

She’d pushed him too hard. 

And now he was angry with her. 

“If we hadn’t found you, if something had happened to you… while I was sleeping, or driving to hospital, or… if something had happened to you, Clarke… It wouldn’t have mattered to me how injured I was, because you would be gone. _I would have **died**_.” He emphasised the word, anger making it even harsher. 

His expression was so tortured, so broken, that Clarke felt her heart shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

She tried to think of something, anything to say that would yank them back to the moment before she said anything, but his frustration was turning into something else, and she couldn’t think of anything to say before he started again.

“And it would have been my fault,” there were tears running down his cheeks now and his breaths were coming out in gasps, “like it was my fault when O’s father managed to get to her, because I wasn’t paying attention. Or when my mother died because I couldn’t get to her in time. Or Gina, thirty feet away… I couldn’t… I couldn’t… I couldn’t cope with that Clarke. Not you. I couldn’t lose you too.”

He slumped, looking defeated as the tears continued to fall, eyes staring blankly at his own hands, clasped in his lap.

She couldn’t respond to that, it was impossible. There was nothing she could say that would lessen the pain he’d been through in his life, or the agony he’d been feeling when she was missing. There was no medical remedy for such anguish, and she realised that she was crying too. She wanted to fix it, wanted so desperately to make it better, but all she could do was stand up and move around the side of the bed.

For a moment, he looked panicked, terrified that she was going to leave, but his expression softened when she crawled up onto it and draped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight. Her whole body was pressed against his back, and her nose was behind his ear, and she didn’t care. She didn’t need to think about how to behave around Bellamy Blake – she just did it, instinctively. Why had she been so worried?

He shifted back slightly, moving to lie down, and she lay down by his side, placing her arm carefully over him, trying not to bump his injured chest. Her fingers were resting somewhere near his collarbone, and he moved his left arm over her, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt as she buried her face into his shoulder, straining her ears to hear his heart.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy’s heart was thumping aggressively against his chest, and he wondered how they’d ended up here.

Clarke had spent all day actively avoiding him, flinching away from his touch, but now here she was, wrapped up in his arms, their bodies intertwined on her bed. 

She had fistfuls of his shirt, almost as if she were trying to pull him closer, which was impossible – His right hand was underneath her cheek and his left was tracing circles on the dip of her waist. Her face was pressed into his chest, her legs bent around his – he couldn’t move apart from her even if he wanted to. 

She pulled her head away from him and looked up. 

His heart stuttered.

Because her eyes were huge and full of tears and staring right into his soul. 

He was certain that she knew how he felt. 

She had to. 

Because at that point, it was written all over his face. 

He closed the gap between them and pressed his forehead against hers. Clarke’s eyes fluttered shut and she sighed audibly, relaxing against him, loosening her grip on his shirt.

She brushed her nose against his cheek, “Bellamy…”

“Yeah, Princess?” He murmured. 

“I–”

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off by the rattle of keys in the front door and a familiar voice, “Clarke, where are you? Abby and Marcus wanted to check on you and Bellamy.”

Her eyes flew open and they stared at each other for a moment before he said, “Clarke. Tell me you didn’t give Wells a key to our apartment?”

“You can argue with me about it later,” Clarke said, dragging him with her as she stood. 

“Count on it,” he sat up, whining, “I’m injured.”

“And I was kidnapped, we still have to talk to my mother.”

“Fine,” he stood up, but one of her paintings was propped up next to the bed, and the corner of it jabbed him right in the injured leg, shooting pain through his thigh. He clenched his teeth and exhaled slowly.

“Are you okay?” She asked, stepping back in his direction. 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he tried to keep his tone light, but she could see through him better than anyone; she knew he was in agony. 

“Bellamy–”

“I’m fine, Clarke, go, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She sighed, “I’ll get you some ice.”

She left and he collapsed back on her bed. The second she was far enough away, he doubled over, gripping his knees to ride out the wave of pain.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

* * *

* * *

When Clarke revealed herself, her family practically leapt on her. 

“Oh honey! How was Bellamy’s birthday party?” Abby gushed, hugging her.

“We were so sorry we couldn’t make it,” Marcus said, stealing a hug of his own, “And Wells keeps clamming up when we mention it.” 

“It was great! But we’re not allowed to use the _‘p-word’_ ‘cause Bell gets touchy.”

“Fuck you, Griffin!” His voice sailed out of her room.

“Why don’t you come out here and say that to my face?” She quipped back, knowing full well that he was stuck there, and he made a strangled noise. 

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Bellamy,” she called back nonchalantly as she grabbed some ice and wrapped it up. She turned to see Abby, Marcus and Wells staring at her with odd expressions, “He was helping me choose art to submit to some galleries downtown and when he got up, he walked his stab wound directly into the corner of a canvas.”

Abby paced over to the door, "Are you alright, Bellamy?"

"Fine, Abby. No stitches broken, just bruised."

"Good," she started to ask him something else.

Wells and Marcus shared a look and Wells stepped past Clarke and into the kitchen to grab the coffee pot, muttering, “Did you mean to tell Bellamy you loved him just then?”

Clarke felt her body flush cold: she hadn’t even noticed. She tried to brush it off, “I can say I love him, don’t be ridiculous. He’s my friend. I love _you_ , don’t I?”

“You know why I’m asking,” Wells asked quietly as he filled up the pot, and she shook her head.

“I haven’t told him yet,” She admitted, and Wells moaned dramatically. 

“Clarke, c’mon!”

“Well, I was just about to, and then you three burst in, like the three cockblocking musketeers,” she seethed back. 

“Ah,” he looked sheepish, “sorry. I probably should have called first.”

Marcus had been watching the whispered exchange with some amusement but after a moment he took the ice from Clarke’s hand, “I’ll take it to him. I want to check on him anyway.”

Clarke’s brows knitted together pensively as she watched him go, “Should I have noticed that my step-dad is in love with Bellamy too?”

Wells snorted, “Yeah I really think they bonded while you were gone. They spent a little time together, and Marcus visited him in the hospital the night you went home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, after visiting hours. The others got kicked out once visiting hours ended, but he’s the mayor, so the nurses didn’t even try to argue. He arrived quite late and stayed all night. He said something about not wanting Digiorno to be alone.”

“That’s… really nice,” Clarke said softly. 

“He’s your step-dad, he wants to be friends with your future husband,” Wells teased, and she trod on his foot. Abby had gravitated back towards them, but Wells hadn't noticed yet. Clarke decided she could use that to her advantage.

She raised her voice a little, “What’s the bet I’ve been hearing so much about, Wells?”

His eyes widened a fraction, “Bet? What bet?”

“The bet you’ve been making about me and Bellamy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he feigned ignorance. 

Abby came up behind him, “What bet, Wells?”

He jumped, not expecting it, and glared at Clarke, “You did that on purpose.”

“Yes, I did. You can’t lie to my mother, Wells, and you know it. Now spill,” she said. 

“Marcus did it too!” Wells blurted out, and Abby looked furious.

* * *

* * *

Marcus knocked before he entered, and closed the door behind him. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, handing the ice in his hand over. 

Bellamy placed it on his thigh, wincing slightly, “I’ve been better.”

“Not recently,” Marcus remarked, and Bellamy snorted. 

“True.”

“Bellamy, I want you to know that you have my blessing.”

“Your… what?” He looked confused.

“With Clarke. For anything – dating, marriage, world domination – anything you want to do with Clarke, you have my blessing. You don’t need it, and she _certainly_ doesn’t, but I wanted to give it anyway. You would have had Jake’s, if he were still around.”

Bellamy cleared his throat, averting his eyes, “I’m not dating Clarke.”

“But you will be,” Marcus said matter-of-factly. 

“How do you know that?”

“Because you love each other,” Marcus clapped him on the back, “People who love each other typically end up in loving, monogamous relationships. But that’s just my experience. Maybe you and Clarke will end up living in rooms 10 feet apart for the rest of your lives, pining.”

“I’m not pining,” He protested.

Marcus laughed, “I don’t mean you.”

“What?” Bellamy felt his heart skip a beat. Surely that hadn’t meant what he though it meant, right?

“Clarke,” Marcus said, like it was obvious, “she’s doing the voice.”

“The what?”

“Jake and Wells used to talk about it – Clarke has a tell for when she likes someone – her voice changes slightly. And I thought they were exaggerating, because I never noticed, but they swore by it. And then Jake died, and she wasn’t really in the frame of mind for any relationships, so I never had a chance to really look for it again. She rang me once, a few months ago, to tell me about Finn, and I still didn’t hear it. I was beginning to think they’d made it up entirely, and then… Then when we were in the police station, she said _your name_ and it just… clicked.” Marcus said, thoughtful, “The way she said it, like you were the only person in the world who mattered – that’s what Jake meant.”

“Oh.”

“You’re serious? You didn’t know?”

“No, I… I guess I’m just not used to being happy,” Bellamy realised, “And so I kept rationalising it to myself. it’s easier for me to decide that she doesn’t love me back, than to admit that I love her and lose her.”

“Well for the record, Bellamy, I don’t think you’re gonna lose her.”

“No? I already lost her once,” he sounded wrecked, and Marcus’s expression morphed to one of sympathy. 

“And you got her back,” he nodded his head towards the door, “you can take care of each other. Together.”

“I don’t think I’d survive losing her again, Marcus.” 

“Me neither,” he agreed, leaning against him.

The door burst open and Wells stomped in, “Marcus, I’m so sorry, Clarke cornered me, and now Abby knows!”

“Knows what?”

“That you were betting about my daughter,” Abby appeared behind him, tutting disapprovingly, and Marcus squinted as though trying to think of an excuse. Clarke poked her head into the room as well, amusement in the corners of her eyes, but her face otherwise neutral. 

“In my defence, so was everyone else in her life,” Marcus said, but it was the wrong choice. 

“Marcus, you’re the _mayor_. Not to mention her father figure – you cannot _bet on her life_.” Abby griped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Bellamy didn't know what they were betting on, but he knew enough to know that _that_ was funny, and he concealed his chuckle with a cough.

“Clarke, I apologise, it was very wrong of me,” Marcus attempted, and Clarke’s lips twitched. 

“That’s okay, Marcus, I forgive you,” she said, clearly trying not to laugh. 

Bellamy still looked baffled, but the situation was getting funnier by the second, “I’m sorry, what exactly are you betting on?”

“Nothing,” Wells and Marcus said, at the same time as Clarke said,

“I’ll tell you later.”

Abby rounded on her husband, “Right, let’s go home and let these two get some rest.”

Marcus rose to his feet, patting Bellamy on the arm, and hugging Clarke, and he and Abby started having a hushed argument as they walked through the kitchen. Abby was reprimanding him for his actions, until they got to the door, when it seemed she changed opinions because she thought she was far enough away not to be heard. It was mostly unintelligible, but Bellamy caught Abby’s harsh, _“I cannot believe you didn’t cut me in, Marcus,”_ and nearly burst his stitches trying not to laugh. Clarke clapped her hands over her mouth to keep it in, and the second the door swung shut behind her parents, they both started cackling.

Wells glanced between them, “You’re both crazy.”

“Fuck off, Wells,” Clarke said.

“It’s the truth,” he teased, and Clarke chuckled.

“Maybe, but I need to get some sleep and Bellamy needs to work up the energy to get off my bed and into his own room for the night, so you should probably go.”

“Why don’t you just sleep in the same bed, like normal couples?” Wells asked cheekily, mirroring the drunken question he’d asked the night he’d stayed, which felt like eons ago. 

“Wells, if you don’t leave my apartment in the next two minutes, I am going to set you on fire,” Clarke was stony-faced, and Wells made a hasty retreat.

Clarke and Bellamy were alone. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“So what’s the bet?”

“They’re betting how we’re going to get together: who’s going to make the first move, that kind of thing.” Clarke explained, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment. 

“Right,” he said, cool as a cucumber, or at least that was how he hoped he sounded. Then, “Do we know any of the options? Because we could make a deal with someone and then take a cut of their winnings.”

She laughed, but she was giving him an odd look, and he realised that he hadn’t denied the idea of them being a couple. 

“No, Wells doesn’t know anyone else’s choice, and Raven wants to win fair and square, so she refused to tell me.”

“Wait, how long have you known about this?”

“Raven told me before she left.”

“Oh.”

“Is it wrong that I now want to remain as friends with you out of spite to our other friends?” Clarke asked, and he pushed up from the bed, taking a step towards her. 

“No, I feel the same way,” he said, and she took a step back.

“Exactly, so we should just be more normal than ever,” Clarke took another step back and hit the desk. 

He stepped forward again, “Yeah, they don’t deserve to be proved right.”

“Right,” Clarke agreed, but her voice caught slightly, and her eyes dropped to his lips. 

“So we definitely shouldn’t do something like this?” Bellamy asked, right before he kissed her. 

She reacted instantly, pulling him closer, her hands on either side of his face, fingers taut against his skin. Her lips parted and he kissed her more passionately and then she was clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her up. His arms snaked around her waist and down her sides, gripping her thighs so he could lift her up. She let him, and he put her down on the desk. The height difference was less noticeable now, which made it much easier for him to dip his head lower and kiss her neck. 

Her fingers drifted up into his curls, tightening around them whenever he brushed over a place she particularly liked, and he tried to file them away for further use, but his brain was hazy. He was far too overwhelmed. She was here; she was in his arms, against his lips, under his fingers, and he could barely believe it. His heart was stuttering uncontrollably, and he could feel her pulse with his lips on her neck, thrumming in time with his.

His hands started wandering, slowly, carefully, and the feather light touches his fingers were tracing over her skin were completely at odds with the fierce pressure of his lips on hers, but she didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t want to overstep his bounds, but she made a frustrated noise when his thumb brushed the underside of her bra and she grabbed the offending hand, lifting it higher. He smiled against her lips and she kissed him harder, her legs hooking around him to shove him even closer. He thrust forward, his hands landing either side of her on the desk to keep his balance.

It wasn’t much, but the force of the movement shook them both out of the moment enough for them to realise exactly what they were doing. She was gasping heavily in his ear, chest heaving against his, and he let his head fall forward into the crook of her neck, trying to get his own breathing under control. 

Her hands stroked down his neck and slid against his chest, eventually ending up under his shirt, gripping his waist, and he realised that she needed to be touching his bare skin as much as he did hers. His lips grazed her neck again, of their own accord and she clutched at him more frantically. 

“Bellamy,” she breathed, and his heart packed up entirely. 

He tried to remember how to form sentences, “Yeah, Princess?”

“I love you.”

He couldn’t help the involuntary reaction his body had to those words. 

His palms found her hips and yanked her forward until almost every inch of their bodies were touching, and when their lips collided, she moaned and he slammed forward, arms folding around her as he pulled her flush to him. 

He had just enough cognizance left to press his forehead to hers and murmur, “I love you, Clarke.”

And then her lips were on his so aggressively he thought she might bruise them, and everything in the world fell away until it was only the two of them.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really write smut, so this is probably closest you're gonna get, but I hope you liked it!
> 
> Finally, feelings have been shared!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I absolutely adore you, and I love writing this story.


	24. If I Kiss You Where It's Sore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy decide to keep their new relationship a secret, which makes working through their issues more difficult than either of them would like.

### 

_You're getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder, getting sadder_  
_And I don't understand, and I don't understand_  
_But if I kiss you where it's sore_  
_If I kiss you where it's sore_  
_Will you feel better, better, better?_  
_Will you feel anything at all?_  
_Will you feel better, better, better?_  
_Will you feel anything at all_  
  
**Better - Regina Spektor**

  
  
Bellamy woke up slowly, his body more relaxed than it had been in years. 

For the briefest of moments, he couldn’t remember where he was, and then it all flooded back. 

_Clarke loved him._

He quickly became aware of her, her naked body pressed against him, still sleeping. He realised he was curled around her, his arm folded over her waist, keeping her close, and his nose was brushing against the back of her neck. He could smell her shampoo and feel the tickle of her hair as it danced across his face.

He opened his eyes a fraction, praying that it wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t. 

Clarke was on her side, her back against his chest, and she was breathing slowly, her pulse unhurried beneath his fingertips. 

He pulled his right arm out from beneath his pillow and tucked it under her, tugging her closer. 

She made a small discontented noise as she woke up, but quickly calmed and tucked herself into his side. 

“Morning,” he murmured in her ear, and she sighed contentedly. 

“Morning,” she mumbled.

“Do you want some breakfast?” He asked, and she smiled and rolled over, nuzzling into him.

“Don’t you _dare_ move,” she breathed, her fingers trailing up his arms and around his neck. She opened her eyes to gaze at him earnestly. 

“Ever?” He asked, amused.

“Ever,” she confirmed, kissing his collarbone. 

“I can live with that,” he rumbled, running his hand down her side and under her knee, pulling her flush against him, and she used the momentum to end up completely on top of him. He was on his back, her knees trapping his hips and her hands either side of his head as she looked down into his eyes. 

Her hair was in her face and she pulled it all to one side so she could lean forward and kiss him. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to kissing Clarke Griffin. 

“I love you,” he mumbled against her lips, and she smiled and bit his bottom lip. 

“God I hope so, or last night would be weird,” she joked, and he poked her in the ribs, making her squeal and jerk back. 

“Say it back,” he grumbled. She sat up straight and looked down at him. 

She raised an eyebrow at him, a wicked look on her face. She brought her hands down his chest, smoothing over his skin, past his bandages, agonisingly slowly, and when she reached his hips, she grinned, _“Make me.”_

Bellamy had never been so turned on in his life, and he wasn’t sure how he managed to even stay conscious, let alone alert, but he did.

He sat up and she shifted in his lap, making them both gasp involuntarily. 

_“Say it back,”_ he said again, one hand on her waist, the other on her thigh. 

_“Make me,”_ she leaned down to kiss him but he ducked her advances and started pressing urgent kisses across her jaw and down her neck. She dragged her nails across his shoulder, and he moved lower. 

_“Say it back,”_ he said to her chest. 

_“Make me,”_ she said, her voice faltering slightly when he reached her breasts. 

He moved his hips upwards as he did, and she couldn’t help but grind down onto him, which made his breath catch in his throat, but luckily it seemed to have the same effect on her, so he forged ahead, tongue finding her skin. 

She let her head loll back, moaning quietly, but he pulled away. She looked down at him disapprovingly and he responded by moved back up to her earlobe and drawing it into his mouth. 

She sighed, completely content, and he whispered suggestively, _“Say it back, Princess.”_

 _“Fuck,”_ she breathed turning her face so she could capture his lips with her own, _“Fuck, I love you so much.”_

“I should hope so,” it was his turn to tease her, “or you’re sending me some very mixed signals.”

She smacked him lightly, but left her hand resting on his arm, and when he deepened the kiss and she arched against him, he used the feeling of her nails in his bicep to remind himself that this was real, this was happening.

Because it felt like Earth’s gravity was non-existent and he could just float away, he was so happy.

* * *

* * *

Eventually they got hungry enough to emerge from Clarke’s room, and she started frying some bacon while he had a shower. 

He emerged fully clothed, which was mildly disappointing, or it would have been if he didn’t look just as good fully clothed as he did naked. Her eyes raked over him hungrily and he moved to kiss her cheek before he pulled ingredients out of the fridge and put some bread in the toaster. He kept glancing at her as he chopped tomatoes, seemingly determined not to leave the cooking unfinished. 

She was wearing her old painting smock, an oversized shirt she’d bought specifically for getting stained with oils and watercolours, which barely reached past her backside. She wasn’t wearing anything under it either, and he clearly noticed. He was holding the knife too tightly, and he kept frowning down at the chopping board. 

She thought he might be able to hold out until they’d gotten the food on plates. 

It took him barely a minute, however, before he was sidling up behind her and peppering kisses down the back of her neck and behind her ear, “I have an idea.”

She flopped her head back against his shoulder, exhausted, “Bellamy, we have to eat something first, I’m serious.”

He chuckled and she felt it vibrate through her hair, “No, a different idea.”

She couldn’t see him, but he was definitely smirking. She wanted to kiss the smirk right off his stupid face, “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

She flipped the bacon. 

He grabbed the food he’d been preparing across the kitchen and put it down next to her, “I think we should keep this a secret.”

“How great I am at cooking?” Clarke feigned ignorance and he tugged her hair playfully, “alright, alright!”

She thought about it for a minute, switching the hob off and depositing the bacon onto plates. He crowded her into the counter so she couldn’t escape and started putting the tomatoes on the plates one piece at a time. She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move. She liked having him so close, liked that he wanted to touch her so much. 

“I agree.”

“Wow, that was easy,” he sounded surprised.

“Our friends get far too much of a kick out of our relationship. Speaking of which…” she pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up over her shoulder so he could read it, “I got this while you were in the shower.”

He squinted at the screen. It was an email from Marcus with the heading, “You didn’t get this from me” and when he looked down he realised why.

> **HOW WILL MOM AND DAD GET TOGETHER?**  
>  **OCTAVIA** $50 **Bellamy:** _He’ll profess his undying love, badly, but Clarke will love it anyway._  
>  **MILLER** $50 **Clarke:** _She’ll give some eloquent speech, and Bellamy won’t be able to conceal his love anymore._  
>  **JASPER** $20 **Clarke:** _Definitely, she’ll probably be all sexually aggressive until he just gives in and they sleep together._  
>  **MONTY** $30 **Clarke:** _Bellamy’s too repressed. She’ll probably kiss him at the bar one night._  
>  **HARPER** $50 **Bellamy:** _Clarke’s too scared of getting hurt again. Bellamy will probably admit it at Game Night, when she’s decimating everyone at Mortal Kombat again – did you see how he looked at her that first night? I mean, if heart eyes were a thing, amirite?_  
>  **MURPHY** $20 **Bellamy:** _He’ll accidentally blurt it out at some point._  
>  **RAVEN** $50 **Both:** _I give it a month, they’ll be banging._  
>  _**I change my answer, whenever Clarke shows him her paintings, they’ll both want to tear each other’s pants off._  
>  **EMORI** $15 **Bellamy:** _He’ll probably screw it up._  
>  **WELLS** $100 **Clarke:** _She’ll let it slip while arguing, I know my best friend, she has no filter when she’s angry._  
>  **MARCUS** $70 **Both:** _Wells took mine! So I say that both of them will admit it while bickering._  
>  **LINCOLN** $20 **Bellamy:** _He’ll probably get drunk one night and just blurt it at her._  
>  **ROAN** $100 **Bellamy:** _Are you kidding, I’ve never seen anyone so in love. I’m surprised he hasn’t serenaded her yet._  
>  **ECHO** $80 **Bellamy:** _He’s so fucking gone, Clarke’s got no chance of saying it first._  
> 

“They didn’t seriously call it that, did they?” He asked, scrunching his nose in distaste.

“Oh that’s clearly all Jasper,” Clarke said, and he looked inclined to agree.

“Well that settles it, we’re not telling them.”

“For how long?” 

“As long as possible,” he growled determinedly, and she couldn’t help but feel a little turned on. 

She tried to shake it off, pouring them coffee, “What if they get suspicious?”

“Well, we need a safe-word, or phrase, for if we’re acting too much like a couple in public.”

“Good idea. But it has to be something that we use enough to not seem out of place, but that we’ll both recognise immediately.” Clarke said, sipping her coffee. 

He pinched a piece of bacon off his plate and stuck it in his mouth, chewing while he thought it over. 

“I hate you?” He suggested, and she snorted. 

“We use that phrase far too much already,” she pointed out and he huffed and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Alright then, you think of something,” he pretended to be offended.

“What about calling each other by our last names?” Clarke said suddenly, “We don’t do that very often anymore, and most of our friends wouldn’t notice the difference. And whoever breaks first, whoever reveals it, has to pay for dinner for a month.”

He grinned, “Perfect! I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

“It’s not my irresistible charms?”

“Well, those too,” he said softly, and ran his hands down her sides, settling them on her hips, “So, for example, if I were to lean in like this…”

“I’d call you ‘Blake’ and you’d have to let go,” she said.

“Right,” he stepped back a little, and she missed the feel of him. 

“And if I were to do something like this,” she turned around and looped her arms around his neck, letting her fingers tangle in his hair. 

He cleared his throat, “I would tell you something about the weather, Griffin, and you’d have to back off.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, sliding her hand down to grab the waistband of his jeans and yanking him closer. One of his hands ended up on the cupboard beside her head, and the other was pulling up the hem of her shirt. She had half a mind to sit up on the counter and let him take her right there, but he stopped them with his forehead against hers. 

“That is not backing off, Clarke.”

“There’s no-one else here, Bellamy.”

“Good point,” he leaned in to kiss her and she spun around, grabbing the plates from the counter and ducking under his arm. She walked over to the couch and sat down waiting for him. He stared after her, a surprised, slightly irritated expression on his face.

“We should slow down, at least until we’ve eaten something,” she called out, and she saw him grumble something under his breath before he picked up the coffees and followed her, setting them down on the table. 

“Eating’s overrated,” he tried, but she shook her head.

“For you, maybe, but if I don’t eat something soon, I’ll waste away.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He was undressing her with his eyes, and she knew that pretty soon, his hands would start doing it too, so she started eating faster. 

* * *

* * *

Octavia and Lincoln left that afternoon, and they stopped by to say goodbye. 

They looked slightly disappointed to find Clarke in her room and Bellamy on the couch, both of them fully clothed, as platonic as it gets.

Octavia smacked him on the back of the head, “Why haven’t you made a move yet?”

He focussed very hard on keeping a straight face, but he could practically feel Clarke’s grin from her room where he knew she was eavesdropping. 

“Clarke was kidnapped a week and a half ago, O, she’s dealing with a lot right now. I’m not going to add my feelings to the mix.” He said, and Octavia only huffed. But he suddenly realised how true that was – was it really fair of him to be with her the way he was? Should he back off?

Lincoln went to talk to Clarke about her art, and the two of them spent an hour in her room, probably gushing about their favourite artists before Octavia finally dragged him away, promising to text Bellamy when they arrived home. 

Clarke leaned on the door after they left, “Did you know Lincoln was an artist? Yeah, he went into the police force as a sketch artist and then decided he wanted to be part of the action as well, so he switched. He promised that next time they come down he would come and visit the gallery.”

“That’s nice,” he said, hovering a few feet away, “Clarke?”

She blinked, noticing his anxiety, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… are you okay?” 

She stepped into his space, “You ask that question far too much.”

Her lips were soft against his and for the first time, they moved slowly, just drinking each other in. But Bellamy couldn’t shake the thought from his head that he was somehow taking advantage of her. When she pulled back, he cupped her face in his hands, “Are you happy?”

She seemed surprised at the question, but her hands came up over his and she smiled, “With you? Absolutely.”

When she kissed him again, he didn’t object, and their clothes ended up strewn all over the apartment.

* * *

On Sunday, Raven and Emori came up to hang out, and they managed to sit next to each other on the couch as usual, which seemed to really bother Raven. He put his feet up on the coffee table and started reading Jake’s old Plato, pretending not to notice the subtle way Clarke was leaning against him as she talked to their friends.

After the first few chapters, he stopped trying to read and just eavesdropped, eyes raking down the pages, but taking none of it in. He overhead Raven’s muttered question to Clarke, “Why haven’t you told him yet?”

“Raven. He just got out of hospital, I’m at least going to let him heal before I jump him,” she replied, and Bellamy gripped his book a little harder, trying not to count how many times she’d jumped him in the last two days. 

Emori scoffed quietly, “Please, I would have been there and done that a hundred times by now.”

“Be my guest,” Clarke offered, brushing her hand against his leg, and Bellamy excused himself to the bathroom so he could stop thinking about how much he wanted to be on top of her. 

* * *

On Monday they said goodbye to Roan and Echo.

“Did you and Raven go out?” Clarke asked, and Echo flashed her a triumphant grin.

“Last night,” she confirmed, sitting in Roan’s lap, who just rolled his eyes and let her. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, “It was fun.”

“Who won?” Bellamy asked, amused.

“It was a draw, for now.” 

“Gonna go another round next time you’re in town?” Clarke asked.

“Maybe, although I’m not sure when that’ll be,” Echo said, sounding a little disappointed. 

“Well, my birthday is in about six or seven weeks, you could come back for that?” Clarke suggested.

“I’d love that!”

Roan smirked, “I wouldn’t mind seeing Wells again either.”

“I don’t know what you did to my best friend, Roan, but he pretends to be sick every time I ask him about it, so well done,” Clarke held her hand up for a high five and Roan tried not to look smug when he hit it. 

“For the record, Clarke, we really like you,” Echo said, and Roan nodded his agreement. 

“We think you’re really good for Bellamy,” he said.

“Actually, we might like you _more_ than Bellamy,” Echo teased and Bellamy pretended to be outraged, but honestly, he didn’t mind if it was true. 

Eventually, they had to go, but Bellamy promised to catch up with them soon, and once they left, Clarke was all over him.

They called Jasper to tell him they couldn’t make it to game night because they were tired. Then they spent the entire night in bed, so it wasn’t exactly lying.

* * *

Bellamy’s stint in hospital had meant his five o’clock shadow had grown out a little and on Tuesday, Clarke convinced him to grow a beard because she wanted to see what it looked like. He agreed, but only if she promised not to mention the fact that it was his birthday, and she pointed out that if she couldn’t acknowledge his birthday, she couldn’t do him any birthday favours. 

He let her wish him a happy birthday. 

He still ended up growing out his beard. 

* * *

On Wednesday, they took a bath together, and they decided to order takeout instead of cooking. Bellamy opened up about his mother’s death, telling Clarke stories about his childhood while he sponged her hair. Clarke decided that they should go to the graveyard on Friday, to spend the anniversary of her death telling her about how Bellamy’s life was going. 

“You mean you want me to introduce you to my mother?” Bellamy asked lightly, but she looked back at him all seriousness and somberly took his hand.

“I just think your mother should know that you’re finally letting yourself be happy,” Clarke said, and how could he not kiss her after that?

When the food arrived, they were dressed modestly enough that the delivery boy didn't blush too much, and Clarke was sprawled out on the couch. Bellamy sat on the kitchen counter to eat, and switched between throwing wontons into his mouth and throwing them at Clarke, who kept pulling them out of her hair and shooting him irritated looks. To spite him, Clarke started re-watching _Dollhouse_ , which prompted him to say,

“I can’t believe you’re using my birthday present from Monty to commit such an act of desecration on this house. We are a _Firefly_ family.”

“Please,” she’d muttered derisively, and he’d punished her by being as distracting as possible, sinking down between her thighs until she finally caved and turned off the television altogether. 

* * *

They hadn’t really left the apartment at all since Friday, so they didn’t anticipate how difficult keeping their hands to themselves on Thursdays would be. 

The first night in the bar had been the hardest. 

They’d wasted so much time apart and now all they wanted was to get their hands on each other and keep them there. Which was perfectly fine in their apartment, but once they were surrounded by their friends, it became infuriating. They used the safe-words more than once during the night, usually for small things, like absent-minded touches, or unconscious smiles at each other.

Luckily, none of their friends caught on, and once Bellamy started back at work the next week, it became like a ritual that they would make each other as sexually frustrated as possible all night, until they got home. 

The first Thursday, they hadn’t made it out of the car, parking it behind the building so that Clarke could climb on top of him.

* * *

* * *

The week after that, Clarke wore a low-cut top to the bar, nearly making Bellamy drop the glass he was polishing when she walked in. 

She sat down with Jasper and chatted to him about Maya, convincing him to invite her to The Dropship the next Thursday, and when Monty and Harper arrived, she asked them about the case they were working on. She was giving her friends her undivided attention. 

But she could still feel Bellamy’s eyes on her, and it was starting to make her hot and bothered.

So she offered to buy the next round, flouncing up to the counter and leaning over so that the he had a full view of her chest. His eyebrows twitched and he threw his gaze up to the ceiling.

“What do you want, Clarke?”

“Do you really need me to answer that question?”

He slammed two beers and a Jasper Special down on the counter, pointedly looking anywhere but at her. 

“Please go and sit down,” he asked weakly, and she pressed her lips together, trying to bite back a retort about where she’d rather be sitting. 

“ _Rum_ , Bellamy,” she reminded him and he growled, which made her heart skip a beat or two.

“I’ll bring it over. Get away from my bar, _Clarke_ ,” he snapped, deliberately avoiding the safe-word, and she knew she had his undivided attention when she walked away. 

The delinquents were staring at Bellamy in disgust and Harper put a reassuring hand on her arm, “Don’t worry, Clarke. He doesn’t mean it. He’s just an idiot.”

Monty and Jasper nodded, Bellamy purposefully elbowed her when he put her drink down, and she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. 

After close, Raven and Wick dropped in, scooching into the booth together, all flirtatious smiles and raunchy touches, and Clarke knew Bellamy was as distracted by it as she was. 

So she did the only thing that would bring his attention back where it needed to be and dropped a pretzel down her shirt, reaching daintily into her cleavage to pull it out. His eyes darted across to her and he gripped the counter a lot harder than he had been before. 

Bellamy told Murphy he was going to count the days takings out the back, and she didn’t see him for the next hour. 

That night, they managed to get all the way into the living room before they gave in.

* * *

* * *

It wasn’t perfect though. 

Clarke still hadn’t told him about her panic attacks. 

They started the day he went back to work. She went from being in his company all of the time to being left alone in the apartment for long stretches, and her anxiety worsened with each day.

The anxiety attacks, she could manage. She’d just double check the locks and turn her music up. 

But on Saturday, one of her anxiety attacks turned into a massive panic attack, and she sunk down onto the kitchen floor, hysterical. 

She kept seeing glimpses of Emerson out of the corner of her eye, watching her, and it was driving her crazy. 

Someone knocked on the door to the apartment, but she couldn’t move. She yanked at her hair and tried to calm her breathing, but it wasn’t working.

“Clarke?” Raven’s voice called out, and then her key was twisting in the lock and she walked in, spotting her immediately, “Shit, Clarke, what’s wrong?!”

She rushed over and crouched beside her, hands hovering inches away, unsure if Clarke wanted to be touched or not. 

“I’ll call Bellamy,” Raven said, pulling out her phone.

“No!” Clarke yelled and Raven looked at her, gobsmacked. 

_“No?”_

“Please don’t tell Bellamy,” she whimpered. 

Raven looked unsure, “Clarke–”

“No, Raven please don’t! He doesn’t know.”

“He… has this been happening a lot?”

“Since last week,” she was hyperventilating now, and she dug her nails into her thighs to try and ground herself somehow.

“Griffin, why didn’t you say something? I can understand not telling the rest of us, but Bellamy?”

Clarke sobbed, “He’s already worried about me _all the time_ , Raven, I don’t need to burden him with this.”

“Clarke, he cares about you,” Raven said gently, which only made Clarke cry harder.

“He’s been having nightmares,” she said, digging her nails in harder, “every night since he got back, he’s been having nightmares, and sometimes he calls out in his sleep and it wakes me up. And he won’t talk about it – every time I try and bring it up, he claims he can’t remember them, but he’s lying, and I… he’s already worried about me, Raven, please don’t add to it.”

She didn't mention that she was in his bed when he had the nightmares, and that he didn't calm down until he pulled her into his arms and buried his face into the crook of her neck. 

Her panic started rising again and Raven held her hands up, “Okay, alright, I’m not calling Bellamy. I’m gonna call Wells. Is that okay?”

Clarke nodded, scrunching her eyes shut, and when she opened them again fifteen minutes later, it was to Wells stomping up to her. 

“When did you start having panic attacks again?” He asked, and his tone was more than a little accusatory.

“A week ago,” she muttered, trying her hardest to regulate her breathing.

“Clarke! Raven said you didn’t want to tell Bellamy, but why didn’t you tell me?” Wells stroked her hair out of her face, “I was there when you used to get them, why didn’t you call me?”

She felt a fresh wave of tears cascade down her cheeks, “I don’t know, I thought I was fine, and then today it hit me really hard and I couldn’t breath and I couldn’t move, and I just–”

“Okay,” Wells said sitting down next to her. Raven took the other side and they each held one of her hands, “We’re going to stay here until you’re calm, and then we’re going to put some rules in place about this. Like, if you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack, text one of us.”

“Okay,” she sniffled, nodding.

“And if something is making it worse, like a person or a movie or a situation, let us know so we can step in,” Raven added. 

She was already beginning to calm down a little, and Wells squeezed her hand.

“You know you’re gonna have to tell Bellamy about this eventually, right?”

“I know,” she pressed her forehead into her knees, “I just don’t want to ruin it.”

“Ruin what?” Wells asked, and she swallowed. She couldn’t tell them the truth. 

“He’s been recovering really fast, and he seems so happy, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Clarke said, and it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

“You’ll only make it worse if he finds out you’ve been hiding it from him.” Raven pointed out, and she groaned. She couldn’t cope with sound logic right now. 

* * *

The Thursday after that, Clarke was walking to The Dropship to meet everyone, when her phone started buzzing, and she got a horrible feeling of déjà vu. She checked her caller ID, and sure enough, Finn was ringing her. She wondered why she’d never deleted his number, but it occurred to her that things had gotten a little intense after Bellamy scared him off. 

She thought about ignoring it, but she knew he’d probably keep calling. 

“Hey Princess,” he said, all ease and friendliness. 

“You don’t get to call me that, Finn,” she hissed. 

“Sorry, Clarke, look, I know I don’t have any right to call you, but I saw the news this afternoon and it said something about a guy called Emerson being on trial for kidnapping, and it said your name. I’ve been seeing news reports about a “Griffin Kidnapping” for weeks, but today was the first time I saw your full name. Did you get kidnapped?”

Clarke sucked in a breath, “Yeah, Finn.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“I really, really don’t want to talk about it, Finn, especially not with you,” she reached The Dropship door, but her hands were starting to shake and she didn’t want to face anyone like this. 

She ducked around the back, sliding down the brick wall and checking her pulse. 

It was racing. 

“I know, sorry, I just… that Emerson guy came around a couple of times, asking about you, when we broke up. He looked like bad news, you’re not hurt or anything are you?”

“No. I have to go,” Clarke’s breaths were coming out in gasps, and she could have sworn she glimpsed Emerson in the corner of her eye, but when she spun around to look, there was nothing there, “Don’t call me again, or I’ll send Bellamy over to your apartment.”

She hung up and threw her phone across the alleyway, hearing the screen shatter, but not caring. She could feel the terror sitting under her ribcage, constricting her breathing, making her heart pound against her sternum. She rammed her nails into her palms, drawing blood. She didn’t have to check to know that there were tears on her cheeks.

“Clarke, you good?”

She looked up to see Murphy standing over her, bin bags in hand. 

She shook her head, “No, I’m not, Murphy. I think I’m really screwed up.”

He launched the trash bags away from them and knelt down in front of her, “You’re not, Clarke." 

"You don't know that, Murphy, I keep seeing things, and I can't... I don't know what to do. I'm screwed up."

"You're not. I should know, I _am_ screwed up. You're just panicking, which is okay. A bit of terror is healthy, every now and then. I had a lot of freakouts in juvie. You went through a traumatic thing, and it’s going to take a bit of time before you’re fully okay again.” 

“When did you get so wise?” Clarke sniffled, her panic subsiding, and he grabbed both of her shaking hands in his and yanked her to her feet.

“I’ve always been wise, Griffin, you’re just too busy making googly eyes at Blake to notice.”

She scoffed, “Last week you spilled a drink because Emori kissed your cheek.”

“What can I say, she _completes_ me,” he joked, and she smacked him on the back of the head. He groaned, “You’re spending too much time with Bellamy.”

She picked up her phone – the screen was cracked but it still worked, and she pocketed it, leaning against Murphy as they made their way back towards the front door, “Hey, can you do me a favour and not tell Bellamy about this? Wells and Raven know, I just don’t want to worry him.”

“Can you two just _bang_ so that you both get some _much needed_ release of tension? Seriously, I think it’s cute and all, but I have money riding on this.”

Clarke laughed, and by the time she stepped into the bar, all remnants of her panic attack were gone, replaced with a strong desire to get into her boyfriend’s pants. 

That must have come across in the way she was looking at him, or maybe he just wanted revenge for the previous week, because he was lifting crates of beer when she arrived, muscles bulging. He even winked at her as he passed, and she slid into the bar and tried not to look at him too much.

Unfortunately, she kept zoning out, thinking about Bellamy’s arms, and she ended up apologising to Maya twice, once for knocking her drink too hard when they toasted, and once for not hearing half of a story she was telling. Not a great first impression with the girl Jasper was obsessed with.

Bellamy deliberately spilled beer on himself after close, and tore off his shirt by the jukebox, reaching onto a shelf to get one of his spares, which made Clarke’s eyes flare dangerously from across the room. That had been the first time they didn’t even make it out of the bar. They waited until their friends left and she followed him into the cold room, whispering promises to warm him up. 

* * *

* * *

Bellamy knew she wasn’t telling him something, and he tried not to push the issue, but he started to discover marks on her skin where she’d gripped herself too tight, and it worried him. 

The sex in the walk-in cooler had been fantastic, but his brain had been so occupied with the crescent-shaped grazes in her palms that he didn’t enjoy it as much as he would have liked.

It all came to a head the next day, when he was at work, during one of the busiest shifts in recent memory. 

His phone started ringing, but he was so swamped that he left it under the bar, not even looking at it. He promised himself he’d check it later, but the bar just filled up more and more, and he never got around to it. 

They called in a couple of other workers, and when they arrived, Murphy went missing, half an hour before his shift was supposed to end. 

Bellamy and Miller were left to tend the bar while the other employees ferried food to the tables, which made Bellamy furious. Murphy was lazy, but he was never so unreliable that he’d just vanish without warning. 

When it had quietened down enough for him to duck away for a moment, Bellamy stomped out the back to look for him. 

He found him leaning against the dumpster, facing away from him, phone pressed to his ear, “yeah, I know, but _rationally_ , you know that’s not true.”

Murphy paused a moment before replying to the person on the other end.

“He won’t hate you.”

He sighed. 

“Take a deep breath, Clarke, c’mon. I’ve got to go back to work soon, have you got a hold of Wells or Raven yet?”

He drummed his fingers against the lid. 

“I’ve got an idea, but you’re not gonna like it,” he paused, listening, “yes, Clarke... Yes. You _need_ someone there with you, and much as I love you, we both know I’m not good at this shit. You _have_ to tell Bellamy.”

He rubbed his head. 

“You can’t tell me you’re okay, Clarke, you called me because you couldn’t _breathe_.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked it for something.

“Shit!” He kicked the dumpster and shoved his phone into his back pocket. He turned directly into Bellamy, who crossed his arms.

“What’s wrong with Clarke?” Bellamy asked, “And why is she calling you?”

“She’s having a panic attack, and you need to get home, now.” Murphy said urgently. 

“What?!” Bellamy immediately started freaking out. 

“I can see why she didn’t tell you,” Murphy said, “Look, I’ll cover the rest of your shift, don’t worry about it, just go make sure she’s okay.”

Bellamy clapped him on the shoulder, promising him he’d make it up to him, and sprinted for his car. He was so glad he hadn’t walked to work.

When he got home, he called her name throughout the place and eventually found her curled up in the corner of her room, practically underneath the bed, sobs coursing through her. 

He pulled her into his arms and lifted her onto the bed. 

“Murphy told you?” Clarke whimpered, and he stroked her arms, moving up and down them slowly, trying to soothe her. 

“Yeah, Princess, but it’s not his fault, I cornered him,” he said, “why didn’t you just tell me?”

Her face crumpled and it broke his heart. 

“I’m s-sorry,” she heaved in a breath, _“I’m so sorry.”_

“What do you have to be sorry for?” He asked gently. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” she sobbed, “you should be with someone who isn’t terrified of being alone the apartment, or scared of walking into her favourite bar. You shouldn’t have to be worried all the time. You should be with someone who makes you h-happy."

“Don’t say that,” he said, a pained expression on his face, “ _you_ make me happy.”

 _“Like this?”_ She asked, gesturing at herself, at the complete and total mess she was in, and he made up his mind. 

He yanked her covers aside and clambered into the bed. He reached for her and she shuffled backwards into his arms, laying her head back against his chest. He propped his legs up either side of her and she rested her arms on his thighs. He could feel every sob as it wracked her body, could feel the way she was shaking, and all he wanted to do was make it better. 

He gathered all her hair over one shoulder and pressed his lips behind her ear. 

“It doesn’t matter to me, Clarke. I just want to _be here_ , I want to be the person you call when you feel this way.”

“I just didn’t want you to worry about me,” she said in between harsh intakes of breath. 

“I’m always going to worry about you, Clarke. I’d worry a lot less if you weren’t keeping things from me.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” she snapped, “what about your nightmares?”

He clenched his teeth. She was right – he hadn’t talked to her about them either, so he couldn’t really be upset that she was hiding her panic attacks. 

“I don’t like to think about them,” he said, instinctively pulling his arms a little tighter around her.

“I know,” she whispered, “but sometimes you yell my name in the middle of the night.”

He flinched. 

He didn’t know that. 

“Oh, Clarke, I’m sorry,” he nudged his forehead against her hair, “You should have said something.”

“I tried, but you brushed me off.”

He kissed her neck, cursing himself, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t want to add to that,” she admitted. 

“You _have_ to talk to me, Clarke. Promise me that when this happens again, you’ll tell me?”

“I promise,” she sobbed again, covering her face with her hands like she was embarrassed, “But you have to promise to check your phone.”

“Was that you calling earlier?”

“Yeah,” she turned her head to look at him, “I just had a bad feeling. I was really worried that something had happened to you, and I texted a few times, and then I called and you didn’t answer. It’s irrational, and I know that, but I worked myself up, and then I rang Raven and Wells and they weren’t answering either, so I called Murphy. He talked me down a lot. It was a lot worse before you got here.”

“It’s okay to be worried. It doesn’t make you weak, just because getting kidnapped affected you.”

“It’s not just being kidnapped, Bellamy, you nearly died,” she gripped at his thighs, “I nearly… I nearly lost you, and every time I remember how close I came to losing you, I just can’t cope. Every time you leave the apartment it’s like going through that all over again, not knowing if you’re alive or dead. Sometimes I see Emerson in my periphery. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Her voice hitched and he started nuzzling into her hair, murmuring, “You’re not losing your mind, Clarke, you’re just recovering. You’re going to be fine.”

He kept kissing down her neck, to her shoulder, and back up again, repeating, _“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”_

They sat that way for a long time, and after a while, Clarke’s breathing evened out, and she stopped shuddering.

“I love you,” she sighed, and he realised that she had stopped crying. Her hands were still trembling on his legs but her pulse had returned to normal. 

“I love you, Clarke. No matter what. _I need you._ I don't know where I'd be without you.”

“We’re okay.” She said, almost as though she was trying to reassure herself. 

“We’re okay,” he echoed, kissing her cheek, and when she tilted her head so he could reach her lips, he tried to kiss them so all-consumingly that she would forget how close they each came to losing each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> It took me the longest to write of any of them, because not only is it long, but as someone who has panic attacks, I wanted to write them accurately enough for it to make sense, but not so in depth that I would give myself a panic attack by accident, you feel me?
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments, you brighten my day!


	25. You Are My Sweetest Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping their relationship a secret gets harder.

### 

_You are my sweetest downfall_  
_I loved you first, I loved you first_  
_Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads_  
_But they're just old light, they're just old light_  
_Your hair was long when we first met..._  
  
**Samson - Regina Spektor**

  
A month after they first got together, they almost slipped up. 

It was difficult enough to be in the bar and act normal when Bellamy just wanted to be touching her all the time, almost as if reassuring himself she was still there, or that she wanted to caress his hair and whisper seductive things in his ear. 

They had solved this problem by sitting close enough next to each other that Clarke could hook her ankle around his, and he could stroke her thigh under the table. Every now and then, he’d drape his arm over her shoulders and she used it as an excuse to subtly snuggle in closer, and luckily, no-one had caught on yet. 

They were sitting in the usual booth on a Thursday after close, and Clarke was arguing with him about, of all things, Jane Austen. 

“Are you kidding me? You cannot tell me that _Northanger Abbey_ is even close to as good as Persuasion!”

“I didn’t say that, I just said that I’d never read it before, and that it’s a lot better than I thought it was going to be, whereas _Persuasion_ was exactly as good as I thought it’d be. You’re just being deliberately obtuse.”

“I am not, you’re just being an ass.”

He looked around for any of his friends to back him up, but they were all too busy laughing at the two of them, so he sighed loudly and lifted the book back up to continue reading it. Which was when she snatched it from his grasp and held it behind her back.

He reached for it, but she leaned back, and he was practically on top of her, “For fuck’s sake, Clarke, give it back.”

His arm was reaching past her, stretching for the book, but his other hand was gripping her thigh, and her gaze switched between his eyes and his mouth. 

“Make me,” she said, just out of habit, and he swallowed, suddenly realising how compromising of a position they were in. 

“Give me my book, _Griffin_ ,” he said, slowly and clearly, and she blinked, the safe-word bringing her to the same realisation. She shrunk back from him and threw the book on the table, knocking a few empty glasses over. 

He sat up quickly, glancing at her, but she avoided his eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. 

Their friends had obviously noticed, but luckily, they all seemed to assume it was standard repressed tension instead of putting it together. Clarke got roped into a conversation with Jasper and Maya, who’d become an official member of the delinquents a week earlier when Jasper finally worked up the courage to ask her to be his girlfriend and she gushed that she’d been trying to do it for weeks. 

Bellamy placed his hand on Clarke's knee under the table, and she didn’t look at him, but her hand flexed slightly next to her drink. 

Miller leaned over and muttered in Bellamy’s ear, “Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Clarke put her hand in his lap and he shot her a look, but she was still pretending he didn’t exist. 

He grimaced, trying to ignore the warmth in his boxers, “It wouldn’t change anything.”

To be fair, that was the truth. But no-one needed to know what he really meant. Miller just threw up his hands in exasperation and started talking to Raven about her job.

* * *

Two weeks later, it was Clarke’s birthday, and it happened to fall on a Thursday, which meant that Jasper invited everyone to The Dropship, and Miller agreed to close for the night so they could celebrate in style. Roan and Echo were flying back in, and her parents promised to attend, so it was going to be a full house.

Clarke’s panic attacks had become far less frequent, and now when Bellamy was in the throes of a particularly harrowing nightmare, he was brought out of it by Clarke stroking his forehead and whispering his name.

The night before her birthday, Clarke sat him down in the living room and convinced him it was in their best interests to sleep in separate rooms. 

“Clarke, I’m allowed to see you before your birthday, it’s not like getting married,” his mouth twitched in amusement and he flopped back, propping his legs up on the coffee table. She smacked him in the ribs. He winced, out of habit more than actual pain, “I got my bandages off a week ago and you’re already trying to get them back on?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, “Absolutely not. They were covering a large part of your chest. Now that I know what I’ve been missing out on, I’m going to build a suit of armour that you have to wear whenever you leave this apartment. No more injuries for you.”

He laughed and pulled her hair where it was dangling by her elbow. 

“So why are we sleeping separately when we could be doing something highly inappropriate in my room?” He asked casually, but he didn’t miss the way her eyes darted down to his lips. 

“Because Wells is coming over tomorrow morning, and as is tradition, he will wake me up by jumping on my bed like a five-year-old on Christmas. If you’re _in it_ , our relationship might be a little obvious, don’t you think?”

“You make an excellent point, but may I counter with – sex?” 

She rolled her eyes and climbed into his lap, “Are you really suggesting we have to be in bed to do that?”

He closed his eyes, enjoying the weight of her, “No.”

“All I’m saying is, we should sleep in our own rooms tonight.” She said, “everything up until that point is fair game.”

“I can’t believe I’m not going to wake up with you on your birthday,” he sighed, already resigned to it, but she crooked her finger under his chin and tilted it up. 

He looked up at her and she smiled down at him, “I know, but you can wake up with me the day after?”

He couldn’t say no to that.

* * *

* * *

Clarke woke up on her birthday to the sensation of being repeatedly jumped on. 

She didn’t even bother opening her eyes, she just shoved her head under her pillow, “Wells, get the fuck off my bed.”

“Nope!” He yelled, bouncing. 

“I’m letting Bellamy take your key back, you don’t deserve it,” she tucked herself into a ball.

 _“Finally!”_ Bellamy’s voice called from the kitchen.

Wells just kept jumping, “Happy birthday!”

“How old are you?” She groaned sarcastically.

“Not as old as you,” he pointed out and she yanked the covers all the way over her head. 

“I really walked into that one,” she grumbled. 

“Yeah but I’ll let it slide ‘cause it’s your birthday,” Wells said, finally ceasing the mattress trampolining and tumbling down beside her, “C’mon, we’re having a girl’s day.”

“Wells, it’s just the two of us, and you’re male,” she peeked out at him and he poked her with his foot through the covers. 

“Stop spoiling the fun. We’re going to stop for breakfast, and then we’re going shopping for whatever you like: books and art supplies and whatever else takes your fancy. Then lunch, and after that we’re going to get our hair done, and maybe I’ll buy you some new combat boots, or a leather jacket.”

“You’re looking forward to this way more than I am,” she flicked his arm. 

“Says the girl who organised an art museum crawl for my birthday?”

“Only because you made me come with you to a philosophy lecture on my birthday the year before!” She protested. 

He dragged her to her feet and shoved her towards the closet, “Get dressed, we’re going on an adventure.”

“Well, I still hate you, but at least you didn’t make an easy Mean Girls reference,” she shrugged.

“Oh those will come later, and in abundance,” he said slyly, “Ooh, you should wear this red dress tonight, I haven’t seen it in forever!”

“Fine, but only because I was going to wear it anyway,” she hung it up over the closet door so that it was ready for when she got back. She dug through her drawer and pulled out of her favourite t-shirts and some jeans, laying them on the bed. Wells was just hovering there, and she flapped a skirt at him.

“Get out, I have to get naked,” she ordered. 

Wells grinned, “Alright. Should I send Bellamy in?”

 _Yes_ , she thought desperately, “No, Wells, god.”

“I’m just saying, he deserves to see you naked after everything you’ve been through,” he suggested and Clarke launched a shoe in his direction. 

“What did I say about backing off when it comes to Bellamy?”

“That you’ll get there when you get there,” he recited. 

“Thank you, now get out,” she said, and he dutifully spun on his heel, saluting as he closed the door behind him. She really hated lying to her friends, but if he was this insufferable about the two of them now, she could only imagine how much worse it would be once he found out they were together. 

His muffled, _“Morning, Digiorno, sleep well?”_ through the door still made her smile though.

* * *

He hadn’t been lying about the shopping – they’d been into every Clarke-approved store in the mall, and by the time they reached the lunch table, she was exhausted. 

“So, who’s your best friend in the world?” Wells asked triumphantly, digging into some fries. 

“Bellamy?” She teased, and he kicked her under the table, “Alright, alright, it’s you.”

“Damn right.”

“So hairdresser next, right?”

“Yeah,” he was staring at her thoughtfully, “how are the panic attacks?”

“Better,” she swigged her drink, “you were right, telling Bellamy was a good idea. He’s really… he calms me down.”

“I told you so. I’m glad you have each other,” Wells said, and luckily he didn’t press the issue, or she would have confessed it to him right then and there.

* * *

* * *

Wells and Clarke were having a ‘girls day’ which made Bellamy roll his eyes, and they were supposed to be back soon, but it had been hours and he realised that he was going to have to just meet them at the bar. It made him wish that he’d gotten a chance to kiss her before she left.

Marcus texted him to let him know that they’d be at The Dropship early to bring Miller the cake, and Bellamy replied that Clarke would probably be late, if he knew Wells, which he did. 

Octavia and Lincoln dropped in to chat to him about life, see if there had been any new developments, which he pointedly denied. He wasn’t about to admit it now – he really didn’t want to pay for dinner every night for a month, but more than that, he was really happy just being with Clarke, without the pressure of their friends knowing. He was standing in the living room in his boxers, trying to get dressed in an Octavia-approved outfit.

“I don’t like the beard,” Octavia commented. 

“Clarke does,” he said absentmindedly, and she raised an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes and changed the subject, “When are you moving in with Lincoln?”

He pulled a shirt over his head and reached for his jeans. 

“Bellamy, that’s a new shirt.” 

“What, no it isn’t,” he stammered, but it was, and they knew it.

“Did you buy a new shirt for Clarke’s birthday dinner?”

He screwed up his pyjama pants and threw them at her, “Shut up.”

“Oh my god, you’re so in love with her, just admit it!”

“Leave it alone, O,” he grouched, stepping into his pants.

Octavia opened her mouth to argue, but Lincoln cut her off, “We’re moving in next month, we just have to sign the lease.”

“I still think it’s really soon,” Bellamy said sceptically.

“Bellamy, you’ve been living with Clarke practically since you met her.” Octavia pointed out.

“Fuck off, that wasn’t a romantic thing,” he snapped. 

“But it could be,” Octavia whined, “if you’d get your head out of your ass and tell her how you feel.”

“I’m happy as we are,” he was telling the truth – he’d never been happier.

“Sure you are Big Brother,” she teased, but Lincoln was watching him knowingly, as if reading between the lines, and it freaked him out a little. 

“Come on, let’s get to the bar before everyone gets too drunk,” Bellamy commanded, herding them out of the apartment before they could ask any more questions. 

Luckily, they drove in separate cars, and when he arrived, the two of them were already sitting amongst their friends at the usual booth.

“Digiorno!” Jasper called out excitedly, and he sighed. He really wished that Wells had kept that nickname to himself, but luckily, so far only Jasper had been using it in earnest. 

Jasper, Maya, Monty, Harper and Abby were all in the booth, and Miller and Bryan were standing behind it, leaning over their heads while they talked. Roan and Echo were sitting on the pool table, rolling the balls back and forth as they talked to Marcus, who was standing next to the bar. Octavia and Lincoln had drawn up chairs beside Abby, leaving enough space for him and Clarke in the booth, he supposed, although he didn’t say anything. Murphy and Emori were behind the bar, lining up rows of shots and pretty cocktails. Raven was standing by the jukebox with Wick, discussing the best way to hook it up to the amp they’d brought with them.

“I can’t believe Miller closed the whole bar down and we’re still just sitting around same old booth as always,” Bellamy said, leaning against the bar. Murphy handed him a drink and smacked him on the shoulder. 

“It’s a tradition, Blake,” he said, grinning. 

Marcus stepped closer to him, “Is that a new shirt, Bellamy?”

Octavia overheard and choked on her drink, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“Yeah,” he admitted, not mentioning that Clarke had picked it out. 

“The dark blue suits you,” Marcus smiled. 

“Thanks. How’s the office?” Bellamy asked, and Marcus sunk onto a barstool, rubbing his beard.

“It’s stressful. The mayor of Shadow Valley wants to do some kind of joint event and it’s exhausting. It’s a great idea, and I’m doing all I can, but it’s just so much work. All hands on deck.”

“Joint event?”

“Yeah, like a big festival at a location between our two cities and organising it has been absolute hell. It’s a logistical nightmare. Diyoza really has her work cut out for her, but I’m actually happy to be involved. It’s nice to put Arkadia on the map for something good every once in a while.”

“True,” Bellamy said, about to elaborate on his point, but the door swung open and Wells walked through. 

“Hey Digiorno,” he beamed and sat next to him, “New shirt?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yes. Where’s Clarke?”

“She’s parking the car. Apparently when I did it, it _‘wasn’t good enough’_ and _‘three parking spaces should not be necessary for one car, Wells’_ so I let her redo it.”

Bellamy chuckled, and it was in that moment that Clarke entered The Dropship and his heart stopped beating. 

She’d drastically cut her hair, and it was now cropped up to her jaw, hanging in lazy waves around her face. It framed her face perfectly and he wondered why he’d never imagined her with short hair before. There were red streaks in it too, and he realised after a beat that they matched the crimson dress she was wearing, and _sweet Jesus, where had she been hiding that dress?_ It hugged every curve like it was tailored to her, and she was smiling at them all in the self-conscious way that only she could. 

She looked stunning.

She took his breath away.

But he had to say something, because she was staring at him expectantly, and the bar had gone silent waiting for one of them to speak first.

“You cut your hair?” He asked, trying to remember how to inhale. 

“Yeah, I just felt it was time for a change. You’re wearing the shirt I bought you,” she commented, and he nodded, his mouth still hanging slightly ajar. She pressed her lips together like she always did when she was biting down something inappropriate, “it looks nice on you.”

“Clarke, you look… fuck, you look amazing,” he said, his voice hoarse, “You always do…”

He trailed away when he remembered that their entire family group was sitting around them, watching the interaction. Clarke raised an eyebrow at him and took a step forward warily, “Blake, are you complimenting me?”

She used his last name, she was giving him an out. 

But he couldn’t take it, not this time. 

Not when she was standing there looking like that.

He made up his mind.

 _“Fuck it,”_ he pushed off the bar and stormed towards her, _“Sorry Princess.”_

She frowned, “What are you sorry f–”

He cut her off by crashing his lips to hers, and she stumbled with the force of it but he caught her around the waist and held her up and then she was kissing him back and nothing else mattered. Her hands tangled in his hair but they didn’t stay there. They roamed from his hair down to his face, stroking his jaw, then they made their way further down to grab fistfuls of his shirt, yanking him closer still. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and for a long, blissful moment, all he could feel was Clarke. 

And then the world tilted back into focus, and he tore himself away, pressing his forehead to hers. They were both breathing raggedly, and her fingers moved back to playing with his curls, like they always did. He brushed her cheek with his nose and she made a small contented noise.

* * *

* * *

They were brought out of the moment by an eruption of cheers from behind him, and Clarke’s eyes suddenly snapped open. 

“Whoo! Go Bellamy!” Monty and Raven yelled.

 _“Mom and Dad, Mom and Dad, Mom and Dad!”_ Jasper chanted, until half the table joined in. 

“Lick his face!” Wells teased. 

“Suck his dick!” Echo and Roan called in unison, and then immediately apologised to Abby, who just shook her head in amazement. 

_“Finally!”_ Octavia groaned, beaming from ear to ear. 

Clarke glared up at him, “You owe me a month of dinners. Fancy ones. Expensive, fancy dinners.”

He smiled and cupped her face in his hands, “Totally worth it.”

“I mean it Bellamy, no take-out, I want exclusively restaurant quality meals,” but he silenced her with another kiss and she melted into it immediately, forgetting what she was going to say. Her stomach did flips and her heart raced and she loved Bellamy Blake more than anything in the world. 

“I can’t believe it took you this long!” Miller grumbled, and she broke the kiss and extricated herself from Bellamy’s arms, turning them both to face their family. She stood in front of him, leaning back against his chest, and he rested a hand on her shoulder, absent-mindedly brushing his thumb through the ends of her hair.

Monty looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and closed his mouth. Murphy and Emori were still wolf-whistling from the bar, and Abby and Marcus were sharing a knowing look. 

Clarke elbowed him, “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me _on my birthday!_ Now we have to talk about it, all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants. Goddammit, Blake, I was a perfect girlfriend on _your_ birthday.”

Bellamy winced and buried his face in her hair, “sorry, but in my defence, it would take a superhuman act of strength on my part to see you in that dress, with that hair and _not_ kiss you.”

She tilted her head up at him and he kissed her temple, snaking his arm around her waist to pull her closer. 

Their friends were staring at them, completely nonplussed, but it seemed to be dawning on some of them what they were saying. 

“Did you just say _girlfriend?_ ” Wells asked.

 _“Since his birthday?!”_ Octavia shouted.

“Well, actually,” she said sheepishly, “We’ve been together for six weeks.”

Not one person in the room was prepared for that information. All of them looked utterly shell-shocked. 

“What?!” Raven gasped.

“Six weeks?!” Miller glared. 

“Go Clarke!” Echo laughed, “Tap that ass!”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harper asked.

“Because you were betting on it,” Bellamy said, as if it was obvious.

Now it was the delinquents’ turn to look sheepish, and rightly so, in Clarke’s opinion. 

“Yeah, it was nice to be together without all of you wanting to know how it happened or teasing us mercilessly.”

“Which I have now ruined, sorry,” Bellamy dropped his head to her shoulder and she laughed. 

“It’s okay, I nearly told Wells twice today,” she admitted, “and it’s nice to be able to touch you in public.”

“To be fair, we were already touching each other in public.”

“Not like this,” she pointed out, wrapping her arms over his at her waist, “this is nice.”

“But still, I feel bad, this is not how your birthday was supposed to go.”

“True.”

“I will make it up to you,” he promised and she sighed happily.

“God I hope so,” she breathed, and he nuzzled her neck.

Murphy was the first one to break the silence of their friends, “How have we not noticed before now? You two are _disgustingly_ in love.”

“We just acted like we always do, for the most part,” Clarke pointed out, “The main difference being that we would go home and make out.”

“Among other things,” Bellamy murmured, his lips skimming across her shoulder and she elbowed him. He smiled against her skin, “Sorry, force of habit.”

“Oh my god you two are ridiculous,” Raven said, “and I can’t believe you managed to keep this hidden for so long. I salute you.”

“To Clarke and Bellamy,” Marcus said, raising his glass. 

“To Mom and Dad,” all their friends echoed, and the two of them rolled their eyes but couldn’t help the laughter that escaped them. 

“Happy birthday, Clarke,” he said softly.

She turned in his arms and draped her arms around his neck, “It is now. Because I get to do this.”

And she kissed him in front of their friends and everyone collectively jumped to their feet and surged forward, yanking them apart. Wells, Emori and Raven had Clarke pinned against the bar and Miller and Murphy were gripping Bellamy’s shoulders. 

“This is the worst, you two need to go back to just being friends,” Monty teased. 

“It’s so mushy and gross, _I love it_ ,” Jasper agreed.

"I don't hate it," Emori acknowledged and she and Murphy shared a look.

“Well I, for one, think that this is great,” Roan flashed a grin, “I’ve been rooting for this since Miller called and asked me to get on a plane because Bellamy’s ‘totally platonic friend’ was kidnapped.”

“I’ve been rooting for it since the day Clarke walked in – no-one’s ever spoken to Bellamy like that, and he’s never been so flustered.” Miller said. 

Their friends released them and Clarke took Bellamy’s hand and sat down in the booth. Everyone moved in around them.

“Who started the pool?” Clarke asked sternly, but she couldn’t wipe her smile off her face and it came out a lot more relaxed than she would have liked. So to hide her grin, she lifted her rum and coke up to her lips.

Jasper raised his hand, “It was my idea. I started collecting money at the first Game Night you both came to.”

Clarke choked on her drink. 

_“What?”_ She coughed, while Bellamy sat beside her in shocked silence. 

“Oh yeah. I would have done it beforehand, but I wanted to know if Octavia noticed it too.”

“Please, I noticed it from the second I stepped into the bar. Bellamy let her push him around, he even ate _when she asked him to_.”

“I came to your apartment with my _boyfriend_ ,” Clarke said, crossing her arms. 

“And then when Bellamy flirted with you, you flirted back,” Monty pointed out.

“I… was not…” she stuttered, “Bellamy was not flirting with me!”

Bellamy winced, “Well, if I’m being honest, I was a little.”

“What?!” She glared at him.

“Honestly, I just really didn’t like Finn, and flirting with you was making him uncomfortable.”

She wanted to be mad, but it was a little funny. Then she remembered something, “Did I mention that Finn rang me a few weeks ago?”

His hand curled into a fist on the table and his voice was low, “He did what?”

“He saw Emerson’s trial on the news and recognised him. Apparently he went to Finn’s apartment and asked him questions about me.”

“Emerson got information about you from Finn?” Bellamy’s expression was dark and she put her hands on his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” she said and his eyes flicked over, “I’m okay, I’m fine.”

“You’re okay,” he repeated, letting out a shaky breath. 

“I told him if he ever rang me again, I would send you over to his apartment,” she confessed and he relaxed a little.

“I’d come with,” Murphy grinned wolfishly. 

“I’d fly in for the occasion,” Roan agreed, having heard the entire Finn Collins saga.

Echo pulled a knife out of her belt and twirled it, “Count me in.”

“Hell, we’d all go,” Wells said, tapping his glass to Bellamy’s, “we can’t let Digiorno go in without backup.”

Lincoln laughed, “From what I’ve seen, Bellamy doesn’t need backup.”

Marcus held his hand across the table for Bellamy to shake, “You’re a good man, Bellamy. I’m glad she has you."

Abby quirked an eyebrow at him and there was something unspoken in her gaze which Clarke was definitely going to grill Bellamy about later."Take care of each other.”

He smiled weakly, “I’ll take care of her, Abby, I promise. Not that she needs it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she replied, that odd expression still on her face.

Bellamy’s smile became a grin and Abby leaned into Marcus's side.

There was a pause before Clarke decided to relieve the tension somewhat. She grabbed his hand off the table and laced their fingers together on her thigh, “So what's new with everyone else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, just one more chapter to go, and it's an epilogue!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this story because I've truly loved writing it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos!


	26. Apres Moi Le Deluge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue of mushiness: five years in the future.

### 

_I must go on standing_  
_You can't break that which isn't yours_  
_I must go on standing_  
_I'm not my own, it's not my choice_  
_Be afraid of the lame, they'll inherit your legs_  
_Be afraid of the old, they'll inherit your souls_  
_Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood_  
_Apres moi le deluge, after me comes the flood_  
  
**Apres Moi - Regina Spektor**

**FIVE YEARS IN THE FUTURE:**

Clarke stretched, exhausted. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t going to be over any time soon. 

Jasper had pointed out a few weeks earlier that it would be the 5-year anniversary of the day Clarke first came into his shop, and the day she met Bellamy in The Dropship, which made it the day her life completely changed. He wasn’t wrong, and when he suggested they celebrate, she had agreed, under the assumption that it would be a few drinks. 

So when he announced that he’d convinced Miller to shut down the bar and throw a rager of a party, Bellamy pointed out that she really had no right to be surprised. This was Jasper.

She had shrugged, reminding Bellamy that Jasper had a pregnant fiancé, and that she thought he might’ve mellowed out, and which point Bellamy fell about laughing and she’d kicked his shin. 

Monty and Harper had gotten back from their honeymoon that morning and despite their jet lag, they promised they’d make an appearance. 

It had been an eventful five years, she couldn’t deny that. The delinquents had basically quadrupled in numbers, she’d been cheated on, kidnapped, fallen in love, and made herself a home in Arkadia. 

Bellamy had bought Miller’s father out of the bar, and he and Miller were now happy co-owners, although Bellamy took days off sometimes to volunteer at the orphanage. Every time he brought up how much he loved those kids, Clarke’s heart warmed a little more. He still hadn’t convinced her to have any of their own yet, but she was really coming around to the idea. 

She had a job at the Free Clinic, and she loved it, a lot more than working at the private hospitals uptown. It really felt like she was helping people. She had moved into Bellamy’s room and turned her old room into an art studio. Bellamy began gravitating towards the room to read, propping himself up in the corner while she painted, which led to some unproductive afternoons, and two very paint-covered people. Jasper displayed her artworks in his shop, and people bought them so often that he complained she was ruining the music business. 

They had discussed marriage too, and Bellamy had admitted that since Gina, he doesn’t like the idea of being engaged, which Clarke thought was perfectly understandable. She was never the married, settled-down type anyway.

Which of course didn’t stop their friends from pestering them. Even five years on, Bellamy still joked that he wished they’d kept their relationship a secret, so that their friends would stop incessantly nagging them about it. 

It wasn’t much of an issue when Octavia and Lincoln got married three years previously: they’d been together first. Nor did it change when Bryan and Miller tied the knot later in the same year. 

It was only after Monty and Harper got engaged that some of them started giving Bellamy and Clarke funny looks. Like at any moment, Bellamy would whip out a ring and sweep her off her feet. Honestly, she was glad he didn’t. Once it became clear their friends wanted it so much, all she wanted to do was refuse. Luckily, Bellamy felt the same way. 

Things only got worse when Murphy and Emori eloped, because if _they_ could get married, why were Clarke and Bellamy so against it?

Then Octavia had her first kid, and even Clarke’s parents started leaning on them. 

“Clarke, I don’t want to pressure you, I just… I wouldn’t mind having grandkids someday,” Abby had pointed out over lunch one afternoon, and Clarke had come home frustrated and irritable. She loved her mother, and they’d come a long way, but she still never really saw eye to eye with her on anything. Marcus was a lot more relaxed, but Bellamy mentioned one night that he’d casually brought up the possibility of children. Clarke had groaned and pulled a pillow over her face, begging Bellamy to kill her. 

Roan and Echo had both moved to Polis and started a bounty-hunting company with Octavia, who was pregnant with her second child, so they were a lot closer than they used to be and came to visit every few months. 

The whole group had never quite managed to be in the same place at once, however. Even for each other's weddings, there was always one or two absentees. All of them hadn't been together in one place since Clarke's birthday five years previously, which made this particular party extra special, and was really the only reason Clarke agreed to go at all. She wasn't going to miss the chance to see everyone she loved together, even if she was falling asleep on her feet.

Wells still worked at Mount Weather, but he bought an apartment nearby, and frequently dropped in unannounced, which led to a lot of near-misses and awkward encounters until Clarke threatened to take his key away. 

“All I’m asking is that you knock before entering, Wells, for fuck’s sake!” She’d yelled. 

“I’m sorry that I don’t expect you to be having sex on the kitchen counter every time I come over. It’s like you plan it!”

“It’s our apartment! We can do whatever we like, whenever we like, and for god’s sake just KNOCK next time!” 

Raven still lived in the apartment below them, although Emori had moved out to live with Murphy, and Niylah had moved into the vacant room. Everyone had been slow to warm up to her, until Clarke convinced everyone she was actually super cool, and she became a verified member of The Delinquents. 

A sweet guy called Macallan ended up joining them most Thursdays as well. Jasper had booked him for one of his Friday night music events and liked him so much that he’d tackled him to the floor once his set finished. He thought that would scare him off, but Macallan wasn’t so easily shakeable, and the group quickly accepted him as one of their own. 

Wick was a fairly regular addition to the Thursday night crowd too, and he and Raven now co-owned his shop. They also slept together pretty regularly, while continuing to claim how casual they were, and Raven and Clarke compared notes a lot about their other halves, which made both Wick and Bellamy very nervous. 

All of their friends were coming to the party Jasper had organised for Clarke, which he modestly referred to as, **“THE DAY-I-CHANGED-CLARKE’S-LIFE PARTY”.**

Macallan was going to sing, and Jasper had tenuously promised not to tackle him again.

Clarke was trying to work up the energy to get off the couch and into the shower when Bellamy got home. 

“Hey Princess, I thought you’d been getting ready by now?” He asked, concerned. 

“I’ll get ready in a minute, I just need a rest.” She grumbled and he sat down next to her and pulled her head into his lap. He started running his fingers through her hair and stroking her ribs with the other hand. She sighed, “Have I mentioned that I love you?”

He chuckled, “Not in a few hours, thanks for the reminder.”

“Do we have to go to this party? I know it’s for me, but could we just pretend to be violently ill?”

He snorted, “Clarke.”

“I know, I know,” she sat up and his fingers chased her, staying against her waist, “I’ll just have a quick shower so I feel less like a doctor getting off a twelve-hour shift and more like a human woman.”

“I can help with that,” he said, and she yanked him to his feet. 

“You better,” she challenged, and he dropped a hand to her backside and pulled her back into his arms. She squealed when he lifted her up, but her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips anyway, “Bellamy we don’t have time for this!”

“Like you said, it’s your party. We can be fashionably late.” He started walking them towards the bathroom, pressing light kisses to her jaw. 

“How late?” She asked breathlessly, and he leaned her against the wall, dropping messy kisses down her neck. By now he had her perfectly mapped in his head, and he knew exactly what to do to get her worked up. Her legs tightened a little around him, and he shifted forward automatically, grinding harder into her.

 _“Late.”_ He growled, and she bent her head to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. 

By the time they made it to the shower, their clothes were long gone, and if Wells had walked in at any point, he would have been beyond scandalised.

* * *

When they arrived at The Dropship, everyone was already there, which was to be expected because they were over an hour late. 

“Sorry,” Bellamy said as he ducked behind the bar, sounding completely unrepentant, “traffic.”

“You live two streets over,” Miller rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Bellamy grinned. 

“What can I say, the roads are crazy.”

“It’s a Tuesday afternoon!” He threw up his hands, “You two are ridiculous. Late to your own party.”

“You’re lucky we weren’t later,” Clarke winked, and Miller, Emori and Murphy made mock vomiting noises behind the bar, clapping Bellamy on the back. She wandered off to talk to their friends in the booth and Bellamy watched her go, smiling.

The smile fell off his face when Abby and Marcus approached him, however, and he started discussing something very seriously with them. Clarke frowned at him as she sat down, but he didn’t look over. 

Monty and Harper were half-asleep, leaning against each other, but they managed lazy hellos when she sat. Next to them were a heavily pregnant Octavia and a tired looking Lincoln, small child asleep in his arms. Next to Lincoln was Jasper, who was chatting animatedly to Maya and Macallan about the pregnancy books he’d been reading, in excruciatingly grotesque detail. Even Maya looked a little ill, rubbing her belly protectively. Raven and Echo shuffled up to give Clarke room to sit down, and she glanced around for Roan and Wick, only to notice them playing pool, with Wells, Bryan and Niylah cheering them on.

“A lot of women require stitches,” Jasper continued, and Clarke squinted, trying to swallow her distaste. 

“That settles it, we’re adopting,” she joked, and Maya shot her a panicked look.

“You decided to have kids yet?” Octavia asked, excited, and Clarke shook her head, “Urgh, c’mon Clarke, join the club, being here alone sucks.”

"Alone? Bitch, what am I, imaginary?" Maya gestured at herself, offended, and Octavia shrugged. 

“I’m on my second, you need to catch up,” she teased, and Maya pinched her arm. 

Jasper was still talking biology, although everyone was trying not to hear it, “And then there’s the mucus-” 

“When does the music start?” Clarke asked, trying to put an end to Jasper’s graphic description of childbirth before someone threw up.

Macallan looked up and her and pointed to his watch, “Well, it was supposed to be an hour ago, but Jasper made me wait.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Clarke said sympathetically, “I’m here now?”

Macallan glanced at Jasper nervously, but he just waved his arms in excitement, so he got up and walked over to where the microphone and guitar were and started singing. Wells, Bryan and Niylah lost interest in pool and sat together listening to him instead, which made Wick frown and Roan throw fries at them. 

“So Clarke,” Octavia said, “Why are you so late?”

“I really don’t think you want me to answer that,” she winced, and Octavia’s eyes narrowed in disgust. 

“Gross, you’re right, let’s pretend you were right on time.”

“I bet _Bellamy_ was right on time,” Raven said under her breath, and Clarke offered her a triumphant low-five. 

“Damn right.”

“I bet he _treats you_ damn right,” Echo added and Clarke fist-bumped her, about to acknowledge the truth in the statement when Octavia slammed her hands down on the table. 

“Nope! Nope, we’re not talking about this, my brother doesn’t have sex ever. He’s a completely non-sexual entity that never ever sexes anything ever. _Ever_ ,” she groaned, and Clarke smiled an apology.

“How’s the pregnancy coming along?” Clarke asked, her tone clinical. 

“People say the second one is easier, and I’d like to find every single one of those people and personally garotte them to death,” Octavia grimaced, and Lincoln hid his smile behind his glass of water, rocking the child in his arms.

“I see that the murderous rage has only doubled since the last one,” Clarke nodded. 

Lincoln yawned, “Yeah, but that’s okay, because I’ve become more mellow, so it balances out.”

“They say having kids just makes you a more streamlined version of yourself, because you’re too tired to be anything else,” Jasper said, and Maya giggled. 

“And you wonder why me and Bellamy don’t have kids yet,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes. 

“What?” Octavia looked confused. 

“Are you kidding? Bellamy would worry himself to death, and then I’d be raising a child alone, which, I mean, I could obviously handle that, but I’d rather have Bellamy there.”

“That’s a good point, can you imagine Clarke pregnant?” Raven laughed, “Bellamy would be touching her more than he already does, which is too much, and he’d constantly be asking her if she was okay.”

“Which would drive her crazy,” Monty said helpfully. 

“So if he didn’t die of an anxiety related heart-attack in the first year, Clarke would probably kill him,” Harper agreed, giggling.

Clarke joined in the amusement, unable to get the image of a panicked Bellamy out of her head, “I think it would be worth it just to fake going into labour to see his reaction.”

“I heard that!” He yelled from the bar, and she raised an eyebrow at him as the table erupted in laughter.

“Anyway, how was your honeymoon?” She asked Monty, who shook off his sleepiness enough to launch into a tirade about how amazing swim-up bars were.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy sighed and knocked back another scotch. 

“Dude, slow down with that shit,” Murphy ordered, “You know how it’s going to go. She’ll be ecstatic, you’ll both say you love each other, then you’ll be extra gross in front of us, and we’ll all pretend to hate it.”

“I know, it’s just… she really hates surprises,” He said quietly.

Miller shrugged, “Yeah but that’s because she tends to get negative ones, like, _‘surprise, I have a girlfriend!’_ or _‘surprise, I work for an evil woman who ordered the hit on your father!’_ or–”

“Yeah thanks, Miller,” Bellamy said sarcastically, downing the shot that Emori put in front of him. 

“For the record, I think this is a great idea,” Emori said reassuringly, “I wish I’d done it.”

“Thanks Emori, that means a lot,” he sighed. 

“I mean, I’m fairly certain she’ll punch you, but she’ll love you anyway,” she added, and he slumped down against the counter.

* * *

* * *

Marcus and Abby pulled up chairs next to the booth and clinked their drinks together, sharing a look. 

“What are you two so smug about?” Clarke asked suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” Marcus said mysteriously. 

She rolled her eyes and gulped the last dregs out of her glass, “Anyone want anything?”

A slew of hands raised and she made her way over to the bar, where Bellamy had already started pouring them.

“I’m assuming you want _rum_ , Princess?”

“You know me too well,” she said, and he glanced down at her chest.

“Well enough to know what I’d rather be doing right now,” he said slyly, and she laughed. 

“Maybe we can duck out early,” she whispered before she ferried the first tray of drinks back to the table. 

When she came back for the next tray he muttered conspiratorially, “Late to your own party, now you want to leave early, how did I get so lucky?”

She darted back to the table to drop off the last of the drinks and went back to Bellamy for hers.

“Do you flirt with everyone who comes in here or is it just me?” She joked and he grinned.

“Just you, Princess.”

She smiled and he put a glass of rum in front of her. 

She sipped it and made a face, “Urgh, what is this?”

 _“Rum.”_ He said, something twinkling behind his eyes. 

“This is the worst rum you’ve ever given me, I thought you’d figured out my tastes by now. It’s been _literal years_ ,” she scolded, scowling at him. 

“I know. That’s the very first rum I ever gave you. You hated it then too, but not as much as you hated me. That was the start of us. All our arguments and honesty and falling in love, and it started with you being a terrible customer and me being a grumpy asshole. Happy anniversary.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, but she was smiling now.

“Will you marry me?”

She wasn’t expecting that. 

She clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. 

He kept talking, “Look, I know I said I never wanted to be engaged, because of Gina, and I stand by that. So I was thinking maybe you wanted to get married, now. Everyone we love is here, Marcus can perform the ceremony, Macallan is the best damn wedding band we could ask for, and Raven made us some rings out of some of your dad’s old dog-tags. _I love you._ I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be the best person I can be, with you, no matter what. But if you want, we can get married today. We can just… be married.”

Clarke felt her eyes fill up with tears and she tried to blink them back, but they spilled out over her lashes anyway. 

“Right now?” She asked quietly. 

“Right now.”

“I hate you,” she sobbed and yanked him forward so that she could kiss him over the counter, and she didn’t know if those were her tears or his but it didn’t matter because she loved this man with everything she had and she would marry him behind a dumpster if he asked. 

Their friends started cheering and when they broke apart he started raining kisses all over her face and she laughed when he leapt over the bar so that he could crowd her against it and kiss her properly. She wanted nothing more than to tear all of his clothes off, but she managed to remember that her mother was sitting a few feet away and thought better of it. He was stroking her cheek with his thumb and she hooked her leg around his to stop him stepping away when his lips left hers. 

“Did all of you know about this?” She yelled over his shoulder at her friends and they all nodded.

“Of course we did! How else do you think Bellamy managed to get us all here at the same time? We haven’t managed that since your birthday five years ago,” Roan pointed out and she faceplanted into Bellamy’s neck. 

“I should have known,” she grumbled. 

“Luckily, you’ve been far to busy to notice,” he said, and she bit his shoulder teasingly. He poked her in the side, “Just so we’re clear on this, your answer is…?”

She threaded her fingers through his hair and looked up at him, “Did you ever, for a single second, think it would be anything other than yes?”

“Maybe you fell in love with Niylah and you’re just working up the courage to leave me,” he joked, trying to hide his nervousness, and she realised he really hadn't been certain of her answer. She fell in love with him a little more. 

“Not a chance, no offence Niylah,” Clarke called out to her friend. 

“None taken, Clarke, if I was straight I’d be all over that man like white on rice,” she replied, downing the last of her beer.

“Thanks,” Bellamy said awkwardly and Clarke kissed him again. He pulled her off his lips and tried to step backwards but her leg was trapping him, “So, just so we’re clear, your answer is yes?”

“Bellamy,” she started.

“Can you just say the words?” He pleaded.

She paused a moment, surveying the look on his face. Then, she leaned in very close, stroking her fingers down his chest and landing on his waistband, _“Make me.”_

He gathered her in his arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck, “Clarke, we are in public and our entire family is here, do not start something that we cannot finish.”

“Alright, alright, yes I will marry you, right now,” she said, and he kissed all the way up her neck until he reached her lips and she melted into him. 

“We will finish this later,” he breathed in her ear, sending shockwaves down her spine. 

“God I love you,” she replied, and they released each other, walking over to their family.

Marcus was standing, “Ready to get married?”

Clarke looked over at the man she had been in love with for five years, the man who’d been willing to die for her, and who she was willing to die for. She had never been so sure of anything in her life. 

“Yes.”

“Please, they’ve been married for years, this is just a formality,” Wells said, and Bellamy wrapped his arms around Clarke from behind as Marcus started reciting something. She couldn’t hear it. 

She didn’t want to.

She didn’t hear anything until she heard “I do” come out of Bellamy’s mouth, and then the world flooded back into focus in time for her to say it too, and then they were kissing and their family was cheering and Macallan was playing one of the songs that Clarke loved so much, and that Bellamy had once told her he loved because it reminded him of her. 

__

_"I must go on standing, you can't break that which isn't yours..."_

Everyone was dancing, but Clarke only saw Bellamy.

__

_"Be afraid of the cold, they'll inherit your blood..."_

_**“Apres moi le deluge,”**_ she sung to him and he chuckled, pulling her closer. 

“It most certainly does,” he said, grinning, and maybe, just maybe, they could live in this moment forever, in complete and total bliss, standing together against whatever came next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINALE! I have absolutely adored writing this story, and I'm a little choked up that it's over, but if you liked it, don't worry, I have a LOT more ideas in the works for potential Bellarke fics. 
> 
> I also take prompts, so if you message me over on tumblr (I'm talistheintrovert or introvertedtaliswrites) I will be happy to write drabbles for you!
> 
> I have loved reading all your comments and I want to thank you all for the kudos, it really means a lot that people are reading this story. I hope it's brought you as much joy as it has me.


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